


Stop Being Such a Fuck-Up, Jean Kirstein

by SatyrSyd37



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Eventual Fluff, Fluff, Libraries, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1977180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatyrSyd37/pseuds/SatyrSyd37
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is your average high school fuck-up. He gets mediocre grades, he fights a lot, and he's an overall asshole. Now, he has one last chance before he gets expelled. And this chance involves working in the library with resident nice guy Marco Bodt, who, for some reason, doesn't realize that he's working with a fuck-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Last Chance. No, Really.

**Author's Note:**

> Felt the need to write another High School AU with Marco/Jean. Because you didn't already have enough of those anyways.
> 
> I really don't know where this is going - or how long it will be. Or if I'll finish it. But I'd like to finish a longer fic, so I figured if I started posting now I would be more likely to, since it will irk me seeing the incomplete icon on this fic.
> 
> It's also unbetaed, so sorry for any mistakes!  
> Enjoy!
> 
> *None of these characters belong to me
> 
> Check me out on [tumblr ](http://satyrsyd37.tumblr.com/) b/c of reasons.

Jean’s foot tapped nervously on the carpet, his fingers drumming on the arm of the wooden bench. His eyes flitted across the hallway, subjecting any unfortunate passerby to his steaming glare. Jean couldn't help it. The fight had riled him up. Most people would have cooled down after such an adrenaline rush, but Jean thrived on the energy.  
  
It was that shitface Eren Jaeger's fault. Well, it _had_ been Jean who had started the fight, but it was Jaegar’s fault, really. If he hadn't been bragging about his A on the English essay they had gotten back last period, Jean might not have made a snarky comment about him only earning the grade because he was banging Mr. Rivaille. Then Eren wouldn't have gone on another rant about Jean never tried, Jean was stupid, Jean was a failure. And then Jean wouldn't have had to punch that asshole!  
  
The door to the assistant principal's office creaked open and said asshole stepped out. Jean leaped to his feet and glared at him, but Eren just sneered, and walked away. "Kirstein!" A deep voice yelled from within the office.  
  
"You let him walk away without hearing my side of the story, Erwin?" Jean spat as he sat down in the familiar office, in front of the far too familiar Mr. Erwin Smith. Jean didn't want to know his assistant principal better than the rest of his peers, but all the time he spent in his office led to unwanted knowledge (about him and Rivaille that Jean did absolutely  _not_ need to know). And with all that familiarity Jean couldn't help but refer to the man by his first name.   
  
Erwin sighed, and placed his forehead in his hands. "We've been through this enough times for me to figure out what really happened, Jean."  
  
"Sure you have." Erwin was a sucker for Eren. Most of the teachers were, especially Mr. Rivaille, even though Eren was just as poor of a student as Jean most of the time. Of course, this made Jean hate Eren even more.  
  
"So what'll it be this time?" Jean asked, glancing impatiently around the room. Erwin cleared his throat and lifted up his head. As he pulled out several papers from his desk, he told Jean, "The usual suspension, for two days, and then I'll have to put you in a month's worth of morning detention."  
  
Jean was used to that. Besides, he didn't want to be near his friends right now. They probably would all side with Eren again. It was weird, how their group of friends overlapped. Everyone seemed to get along fine (for the most part - Jean was still shit scared of Mikasa), except Jean and Eren, of course.  
  
"Alrighty, then, if that's it -"  
  
"It's not." Erwin interrupted.   
  
"Well, what else?" Jean was annoyed now. He knew the drill - Erwin gave him suspension, then detention, and gave him a stern talking to about holding his temper, respecting the rules and authority, his future was in jeopardy, yada yada. His fingers started drumming on the chair again.  
  
"Jean, you're a junior now." Obviously. "And this is your third fight in as many months this year." He knew that too. "You need to grow up now."  
  
Jean scoffed. "It's not my fault that there are so many dickwads at this school!"  
  
"Language, Jean!" Erwin yelled, but only halfheartedly. "I'm going to have to give you another day of detention for that."  
  
Jean rolls his eyes. He knew that would happen, of course.  
  
Erwin made a change to one of the papers and said, “In addition to your detentions, I am requiring you to be an aid for the library - "  
  
"What?!"  
  
" - until I see a change in your behavior. This will begin next week. You will stay after school, Mondays through Fridays - "  
  
"Ugh, come _on_!"  
  
" - for one hour, helping Mr. Shadis re-shelf and check books."  
  
"But - "  
  
"THIS IS A _REQUIREMENT_ , JEAN, AND IF YOU CANNOT FULFILL IT I WILL BE FORCED TO REMOVE YOU FROM THIS SCHOOL."  
  
Oh.   
  
"Um...removed?"  
  
Erwin sighed again, "Jean..." He began, and Jean ignored how much he hated it when Erwin said his name. "You have caused to much trouble. Your grades aren't the best. You don’t contribute to this school. This is your last chance. I have pulled so many strings to let you stay at Rose High, Jean, but one more slip up and I'll be forced to expel you and send you to Maria's Specialized Academy."  
  
Oh. That wasn't good. Maria's was for delinquents, for druggies, for violent kids. Jean was just messing around, right? But he knew he couldn't afford to be sent to Maria's.  
  
"Okay," he said after a moment.  "But then I won't be able to see anyone after school -"  
  
"That what I'm hoping for," Erwin deadpanned.  
  
"Oh." Jean sat back in the chair. One more mess up, one more F, one more fight, and it was all over. Jean didn't particularly _like_ school, but leaving this place, all of his friends, with only a year and a half left of high school was _not_ going to happen.   
  
"You are free to leave now, Jean," Erwin said, and Jean grimaced as he gathered his things. The tone that Erwin said his name in really got to him. It was how everyone addressed him, with no respect, no regard of any kind, like he was some child that got in trouble again. Though, he suppose, he kind of was.  
  
Jean turned towards the door and was about to pull the handle when he heard an _ahem_ behind him.   
  
Erwin was holding out a small stack of papers to him.  
  
Jean snatched them up and Erwin began to say, “Hand these to Pe - "  
  
"I know." He called out from behind him. He chucked the papers on Petra's desk before trudging out of the office, to spend the next two days and the weekend being pissed at himself. 


	2. The Freckled Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's first day at the library - but not with the librarian, much to his surprise (and relief)

After a weekend full of mopping, Jean began the next school day with one of his favorite activities: self-loathing. He was quite the expert at it, really, since he was such an asshole and he wasn’t completely ignorant of that. That morning, he begun by staring at himself in the mirror. He did this enough to realize everything that was wrong with his face - his weird two-toned hair, his long face, his too-thin nose and furrowed eyebrows. His beady light-brown eyes. The slash that ran across his face that was called a mouth by some. Eren was right - he _did_ have a horseface.  
  
Jean sighed and finished getting ready for the day. Perhaps school would take his mind off of what a fuck-up he was.  
  
The day was fairly uneventful. He got bored in class, ate a shitty lunch from the cafeteria with Connie and Sasha outside at their usual spot outside under the crooked tree. Armin and Mikasa avoided him, and everyone asked him about his fight with Eren, but he was used to it by now and gave the usual answers.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“What do you think, dipshit?”  
  
“Why do you hate Eren?”  
  
“Fuck off.”  
  
“Why’d you punch him?”  
  
“Why’d you show your ugly face here, faggot?”  
  
His day ended a bit differently, though. Normally he would have walked to his car with the rest of his friends, Connie, Sasha, Krista, Ymir, Mikasa, Armin. And Eren - who definitely was _not_ his friend. But today, five minutes after the bell rang, he stood outside the little unloved building that said LIBRARY across the top, the Y at the end slightly crooked and the B leaning precariously into the R. It wasn’t _actually_ unloved, as students were milling about in and out of it, but Jean knew better. It was, after all, a library.   
  
Sucking in one more breath for confidence, he swung open the door and stepped inside.   
  
Rose High didn’t exactly have a sizable library. Rather, it was a little small. Cozy, if one was idealistic. It was split in two down the middle; the left half was taken up by several large desks, each with a small cluster of old, fucked up computers, and the right half was dotted in a maze of bookshelves that almost reached the low slung ceiling. The carpet was a deep red, coated in copious staples and scraps of paper, and the white walls were smeared with years worth of smudges and pencil marks, contrasting to the bright orange banner that hung defeatedly in the back of the room like a dead fish. The word TITANS ran across it in that classic high school mascot font, complete with a ridiculous doodle of a creepy looking caveman that passed for a ‘titan’.  
  
To his right was a long, dark wooded desk, stacked unceremoniously with precarious piles of books and papers. Behind the desk was a door that Jean knew (from that one tour he had taken at the beginning of freshmen year, not because he went into the library often. He’d only gone five times, each to pick up or return his textbooks) led to the Mr. Shadis's office, the librarian.  
  
Shadis was a fierce man, with a fierce bald head and a fiercer scowl that definitely contributed to Jean never going to the library. But to his surprise,  he wasn’t greeted by the bad-tempered bookkeeper, but by a much kinder, freckled face.  
  
“Hi. I’m Marco!” said the boy at the end of the desk, who started toward Jean.  
  
“Er, hi,” he said, unsure of how to respond. The kid looked familiar - very familiar. He wouldn’t have forgotten those freckles or the kind brown eyes and soft black hair. Perhaps he was in one of his classes. But nah - he would have remembered him from if he was one of his classes, right?   
  
“You’re Jean, right? I’m in your English class.” Oh. Maybe not.  
  
“Yeah. Right. Is, um, is Mr. Shadis here?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck with his hand. The kid - Marco - was just looking at him, a silly little grin on his face. He must not know Jean very well if he was grinning.  
  
“Yeah, he’s in his office. He asked me to show you the ropes since I work this shift, too, so we’ll be working together anyways,” he gave another little grin.   
  
“Okay,” Jean did not smile back. Who _was_ this kid?  
  
“Awesome! Let’s start with the computers…” Marco gave Jean an extensive tour of the library, most of which Jean knew he’d forget in ten minutes. Marco pointed out every faulty computer, all the squeaky chairs, the kids who came after school every day, and their names, the computers they usually used; the placement of each trashcan and recycling can, the back room that led to the teacher’s lounge bathroom that they were allowed to use (Jean grinned at that. The student bathrooms were gross), and the location of each section of books.  
  
“The classics are in this shelf that’s nearest to the front. All the school assigned books are here. And over here,” he directed Jean to the shelf parallel to the first, “Are the other classics, the ones teachers desperately hope their students will read, but never actually expect them too.”  
  
He flashed Jean that grin again, and it took all of Jean’s effort not to smile back. Marco’s smile was contagious, and Jean didn’t want to catch it. Jean wasn’t the smiling type.  
  
But that didn’t stop Marco. He just went on, pointing to each shelf with an explanation as to which books were on it. It really was a maze; it took Jean five minutes before he realized he wouldn’t be able to find his way out again without Marco. He made sure to take extra care he didn’t fall behind. 

The dark wooded shelves were crammed with battered old books, all colors and sizes. There was some sort of order to it - each book had a colored tab tapped on the bottom of the spine, which matched up with the sections on each shelf, which were then ordered by author name. Blue, yellow, black, red, white, patterned, plain, thick, thin spines jutted out from the over crowded shelves, each begging to to taken away from their book brethren. The aisles were smashed together, so close Jean had to walk behind Marco so there'd be enough room for the both of them. The smell of old paper and ink wafted through his nose as they walked deeper into the maze, with Marco leading him down unpredictable twists and turns.  
  
“And finally here are the biographies K-Z,” said Marco. They had finally made it out of the maze - and Jean was overwhelmed.  
  
“I can’t believe how many fucking books they fit in this shithole,” he commented, anxiously running his hand through his hair. It was incredible, really, considering how unbelievably small there library was.  
  
Marco laughed. “I think it’s a small miracle, really. Never does it cease to astound me.” He winked at Jean and moved up to the desk in the front.  
  
Jean gave a pout. The freckled bastard had the audacity to _wink_ at him. Did he not know who Jean _was_?  
  
“Just one more thing,” Marco said, handling the scanner attached to the ancient desktop computer. “To check out books, you just scan the student’s ID - ” he took out his own ID from a battered looking wallet and scanned it, “ - and then you scan the back of the book - ” he grabbed a random book nearest to him off the top of a swaying tower, “ - and then you’re done!”  
  
He smiled at Jean again, and it took Jean even more effort not to smile this time.  
  
“And if you want to check books in, just scan it again - ” he scanned the book again, “ - and place it in one of the racks over here.” He put the book in one of the racks over there.  
  
“We close at 3:45, and usually we spend the rest of our time putting these books away. Any questions?” Marco asked.  
  
“Er, when do we get to leave?” he asked. Marco laughed, and Jean squinted his eyes, which only made Marco’s smile widen.  
  
“Four o’clock. We work for an hour everyday. For today, you can just help me work at the desk. When we aren’t busy, you can just work on homework or something,” said Marco, turning to a student who had just approached them. “Hi, how can I help you?”  
  
The rest of his time there was uneventful. Jean really didn’t want to work on homework, so he ended up watching Marco most of the time. He noticed the boy’s sweet smile never quite left his lips, except when he was concentrating hard on his homework and his lower lip jutted out and his eyes narrowed. His movements were deft and his tone was light, and Jean, over the course of the last half-hour spent with Marco, developed a decidedly weird fascination with the boy’s defined jawline. He had never quite seen a jawline like that, so angled and delicate. He tried (and failed) not to think anything of it.  
  
When there day was finally over, Marco pulled Jean over to open the door to Mr. Shadis’s office. The man was standing, legs hip distance apart, a large hand stroking his not-so-fascinating jaw as he stared down the shelf of books on his wall.  
  
“Bye Mr. Shadis! Jean and I are leaving!” Marco called from the doorway.  
  
The man swiftly turned around and marched up to the boys, towering them completely. “Bodt! I told you to knock next time! How dare you disrespect your commanding officer in this way!”  
  
Jean too startled to react, but Marco hardened his expression and saluted the librarian. “Sir yes sir! I forgot sir! Sorry sir!”  
  
Shadis mellowed out a bit, crossing his arms. “Hmph. Alright then. Get out of my sight.” He turned back around to continue staring at his wall.  
  
Marco grinned and turned to leave, and Jean went to follow, but the voice behind him made him stop.  
  
“Kirstein,” the librarian said sternly, turning the upper half of his body around. “I’m keeping an eye on you. No funny stuff here, kid.”   
  
Jean fought back the urge to yell at Shadis, like he did with most of his teachers, knowing he couldn’t mess up his last chance to stay at Rose High, and instead took pointers from Marco.  
  
He hid a cringe as he saluted and muttered, “Sir yes sir.” He heard a satisfied  _hmph_ as he left and smiled at his little victory. Maybe the freckled bastard wasn’t as hopelessly ignorant as he had thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just saying - I kind of don't know how libraries work. At all. I'm too busy reading/writing fanfiction to leave that house. Sorry ;)


	3. What the Fuck, Marco?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco doesn't hate Jean.

The next day Jean had English, and Marco waved at him. Fucking _waved_. At _him_.  
  
And in shock, he waved back. Until he caught Rivaille’s stare and snatched his hand back.  
  
But for the rest of the period Jean was aware of Marco’s presence. He sat on the other side of the room, the back of his head facing Jean. No wonder Jean hadn’t noticed him before; Jean rarely looked around at the people next to him, let alone across the room. But Jean found himself watching the back of his head most of the period, curious as to how the freckled bastard could get his hair to look _so soft_.  
  
“Jean!” He snapped his head around to the front of the room, eyes met with a view of an angry looking Rivaille.   
  
Jean just stared at him, and Rivaille sighed and dropped his head onto his palm. “I said, how did you answer question three of the study guide?”  
  
“Er…” Jean looked down at his worksheet. He hadn’t bothered to do it of course - it required thoughtful, written answers. Jean wasn’t stupid, but English definitely was not one of his strong subjects, so he hadn’t bothered doing it. “…B?”  
  
The answer garnered a couple of laughs, but Rivaille’s stare prevented Jean from joining them. His expression, though as blank as usual, seemed to say, _Thank you for being such a fuck-up Jean. You won’t get anywhere in life, you little shit._ Because even Rivaille’s looks were sarcastic.  
  
He sat back in his desk and sighed. Rivaille went on to ask another student the same question. Jean noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up at Marco to see the boy looking back at him, with a sad little smile on his face. Jean glared at him, but Marco just turned around, seemingly unfazed. And it bugged the shit out of Jean for the rest of class.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  


  
Jean was aware that most people hated him. Besides his friends (bless their ignorant souls), most people who knew him glared at him in the hallways. He understood why - he wasn’t a very likable person to his classmates. He had never been particularly nice to them. He stole answers off their homework sometimes, and made bad jokes and cussed and was a black hole of pessimism.  
  
So he was really confused when Marco greeted him kindly again, like Jean hadn’t given Marco his signature glare in English last period.  
  
They begun on homework - or at least Marco did. Jean just watched Marco curiously.  
  
Suddenly he asked, “Why don’t you hate me?”   
  
Marco looked up from his math homework. His eyebrows were furrowed, and Jean was annoyed to realize it was really darn cute. “Why would I hate you?”  
  
Jean was flustered. “Well…because - well everyone hates me! Except for my friends, but their brains are full of shit. So why don’t you hate me?”  
  
Marco chuckled. Fucking chuckled. “I don’t know. Why do you think I’d hate you?”  
  
Jean snorted. “I - because I’m an asshole! I don’t try. I make bad jokes. I cuss a lot... I don’t know!” He waved his hands in frustration, but Marco only grinned.  
  
“Most people at this school are assholes. Not a lot of them try. I’ve heard worse jokes. And worse cussing. So stop acting like you’re so special, Jean,” Marco turned back to his work, a faint grin still on his lips.  
  
It shouldn’t have made Jean feel better. But in a weird way, it kind of did.   
  
“Hey Marco,” he said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“What do you call a cow that just gave birth?”  
  
“I don’t know, what?”  
  
“De _calf_ einated.”  
  
Marco looked up from his math and started laughing. Jean joined in, too. Soon they were struggling to recover from the onset of hysterical giggles.  
  
“That - _pant_ \- ” Marco breathed heavily. “Was the _dumbest joke_ \- _pant_ \- I’ve ever - _pant_ \- heard.” Jean smirked at him and let out another laugh.  
  
“Still don’t hate me?” he teased, poking Marco in the side.  
  
Marco grinned that puppy grin right back at him and Jean finally gave in and smiled back. “Not a chance.” Jean felt himself actually blush at that. He turned around before Marco could see, thankfully, and continued to do nothing except check out the occasional book.  
  
They spent the rest of the day manning the check out stand, Jean insisting on doing most of the work since he had nothing else to do. Or, well, he did have work to do, but he really didn’t feel like doing any of it.  
  
“Why did you refer to Shadis as sir yesterday? And why did you salute him?” he asked Marco at one point.  
  
Marco gave a little chuckle. “He’s a strange one. I think he wanted to be in the military at one point, but couldn’t; probably because he was on too many drugs.” That earned a snicker from Jean. “So he lives vicariously through us students, pretending he’s our commanding officer and we’re his trainees. It’s not too bad really. He always calms down if you call him sir a lot, so he’s really not to hard to deal with.”  
  
“Huh.” Jean would have to remember that.  
  
The previous day Jean had rushed out of the library as soon as the clock struck four. But today he waited for Marco. He sort of felt indebted to the freckled bastard for not hating him. “Where’s you car?” he asked Marco when they got outside.  
  
“Oh, I don’t drive,” Marco said. Jean noticed less of a smile on his lips than usual, and it made Jean frown.  
  
“Oh. Why not?” he asked. Marco looked back at him, eyes questioning, and Jean realized how blunt he was being. “Sorry. Just curious.”  
  
Marco sighed. “It’s okay. I walk, if you were wondering.”  
  
“Oh.” He wondered how far the freckled boy lived, but didn’t feel confident enough to ask. After all, he had only really known Marco for two days. “Right. My car’s over there.” He pointed to the far left end of the parking lot.  
  
“I walk this way. So see you!” Marco said, raising a hand, and heading in the other direction.  
  
“Bye!” Jean called out, gaze lingering just a little longer than necessary on Marco’s retreating form. 


	4. It's a Fucking Maze, No Joke

Jean was actually kind of excited to go to the library the next day. He missed seeing his friends after school, of course, but now he had the time to cool down before seeing Eren's shitty face. Plus the work at the library wasn't that hard.

On Wednesday afternoon there was a bit of a rush, and when they were forced to close up, Marco still had several books to check in, so Jean started putting away the books on the shelf by himself this time.

Jean made his way to the beginning of the maze, the cart wobbling in front of him. The entrance gapped at him, the walls of the bookshelf loomed over him and beckoned him in. But it wasn’t the nice kind of come-and-get-some-cookies kind of beckoning, it was more like the come-get-lost-in-the-depths-of-my-black-soul kind. Jean sucked in a breath and headed in.

At first it was easy. He made his way down the aisles with ease, or at least as much ease as one could have handling a cart that was practically the width of the aisle, picking out the books whose spine sticker color matched those on the shelves. But then there were more and more colors, and the books were harder and harder to place, and Jean made a wrong turn and all the sudden, he didn't recognize where he was at all, and there weren't any stickers on these books.

Jean frantically turned corners, cart rattling behind him as he forced his way through the menacing shelves of books, whose jutting spines seemed to mock him. Another turn, but no colors he recognized. His heart pounded in his ears - he couldn’t get stuck in a _library_! Turning more and more corners, hands starting to sweat, Jean could see his gravestone in the corner of his eye: _Jean Kirstein - Death by Library_.

Finally Jean gave up. He looked at his watch. 3:55. He had been running around in the maze for ten minutes now. He sighed in defeat. It was so embarrassing, but Jean gathered his courage because being embarrassed was better that leaving late.

"Marco?" he called out.

Nothing.

"MARCO?!" he yelled.

"What?" He heard Marco call back faintly. It was as if the books swallowed up the sound.

"Um...I need your help!" 

"With what?"

"I'm...I'm stuck."

"What was that!?"

“I'M FUCKING STUCK."

"Oh."

Jean waiting impatiently a moment, tapping his foot, wiping the sweat off of his brow. The stench of books was really getting to him, now.

"Hold on. What books are you near?" He heard Marco's voice coming closer. 

"Um..." Jean turned his head and read out the names of some books in front of him. "…. _A Brief History of India_ … _The Last Mughal_ … _City of Djinns_..."

He paused, waiting to hear Marco's shuffling feet, but the other boy told him to yell off some more. So Jean looked at the books on the other shelf. “… _The Great Indian Novel_ \- hey, I think it’s something that has to do with India!” Jean heard a murmur that sounded faintly like “no shit” and he smirked.  
  
“Um, let’s see... _Malgudi Days_ … _A Passage to India_..."

"Aha! Got it!" Shuffling feet came closer and suddenly Marco popped his face around the corner and came towards Jean.

Relief swept over Jean and he let go of the fists he hadn’t realized he had formed. "Ugh! Thank you!" He shot his hands in the air, and letting his hand rest on Marco's arm. "It's a fucking maze in here!"

Marco smiled softly back, and Jean realized he was shrinking under Jean's grip, and Jean quickly let go, letting his hand graze the back of his own neck instead. He felt his face turn a little pink - he hadn’t expected Marco to be so…sensitive.

"How about we get out of here now?” Marco asked, taking to cart and heading towards the end of the aisle. 

"That sounds fucking fantastic."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
"Hey Jean," Marco asked once they had fought their way out of the maze.

"Yeah?"

"I'm not going to be here tomorrow."

"Oh," Jean said, disregarding the little pang in his chest. "Um, why not?"

"I'm the president of this club, and we have meetings every other Thursday after school, so I kind of have to be there,” said Marco. He put the cart back, which still had a couple of books on it; neither of then cared enough to put them back now.

"Oh. What club?" Jean knew he wouldn't recognize the name. He didn't know any clubs., and he didn't plan to join any. He was just asking out of courtesy. 

“It’s just called CSC - Community Service Club. We just try and help out how we can, collecting canned goods, volunteering at local animal shelters, tutoring, and stuff like that."

"Cool," he said, and meant it. It was nice that someone was doing something.

"But I was wondering, since I'll be gone tomorrow -" another little pang to Jeans chest "- if you want me to show you a trick for navigating the maze? Since I won't be here to save you next time?" Marco smirked.

"Hey!" Jean pouted but Marco just grinned as usual, and Jean grinned back. He faced the fact that he just couldn’t help it anymore.  
  
“Oh, come on! It’ll take five minutes!” Marco pleaded.  
  
“Won’t Shadis be mad we haven’t left yet?” he asked, glancing at the immobile door behind them.  
  
“Nah, I don’t think he ever comes out of there anyways. Come on, you really need it - it’ll take ten minutes!” Marco walked towards the opening of the maze.  
  
“I thought you said five!” Jean called, following the freckled bastard nevertheless.  
  
Marco handed Jean a piece of paper and a pen upon their approach to the first shelf. “You could always draw a map, but I tried that at the beginning of the year, and it was…well, unsuccessful.” Jean smirked, and Marco gave him a look and lightly hit his arm. “I wouldn’t be saying anything if I were you - I just saved your skinny little ass!”  
  
Jean huffed to cover up his blush (it looked like Marco was blushing a bit too) but said, “Continue.”  
  
“Right. So - I find my way around here by using the titles of the books on the shelves. So for instance, here’s _Catcher in the Rye_.” Marco pointed to a yellow and red spine. Or rather, several of them. “There’s always at least one copy here, so that’s how you know where you are!”  
  
Jean nodded. That made sense. Jean was right in thinking the boy was smart.  
  
“I can show you the books I use - and you can write them down. At least until you memorize them,” Marco said with a grin.  
  
Was that boy _always_ grinning? he thought. But then Jean thought back to the day before, when they were leaving, and thought perhaps not.  
  
“So I like to use the books on the corners…” Marco showed Jean down the aisles again, this time pointing out the most colorful and eye catching spines. Jean made his list, stopping at every corner to write down an obscure title. They got nearer to the end and Jean recognized one of the titles he had written down was familiar - _A Passage to India_.    
  
“Hey Marco,” Jean said, inspecting his list. “Wasn’t this one of the titles I yelled to you earlier?”  
  
Marco leaned over and checked Jean’s list. He smiled and said, “Yes. It helps to pick books that interest me, you know? It’s suppose to be a classic, and I really want to read it one day, but I want to gain the skills to read really deep into it before I do, so that way I can get the full experience out of it, you know?”   
  
Jean didn’t know. “Er, not really.”  
  
Marco playfully rolled his eyes. “Well, then let’s just say I’m saving it for later, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
They finished with _Into the Wild_ by Jon Krakauer, the corner before the hit the end of the K-Z biographies. Jean didn’t think it was necessary to have a book for the very last stretch, since he could see the way out anyways, but Marco insisted.  
  
“Okay, fine. Whatever. I’ll never use that last one, though,” Jean said as he gathered his bag.  
  
Marco laughed, “Bet you you will. I bet that you’ll use it tomorrow.” He was putting his binder neatly away, and aligning all the books near the computer on the checkout desk, his jaw tucked in towards his neck. Not that Jean was paying any attention to Marco’s jaw.  
  
“Tomorrow? Psh, not a chance! What are you willing to bet?” Jean slung his bag over his shoulder.  
  
“Jean, if you don’t use _Into the Wild_ as a reference tomorrow, I will do your English assignment on Friday,” Marco said, walking out the door, Jean following right behind.  
  
That sounded like a good deal.  
  
“But, if you _do_ use it, then _you_ have to do your English assignment during our library hour,” he finished, pushing the doors of the school open.  
  
They walked down the stairs leading to the parking lot. “Psh - what? I already do my homework!” he protested.  
  
Marco gave him a look, and Jean knew he wasn't buying it.  
  
“Well - how will you even know if I’m telling the truth? I could just right up lie to you,” Jean instantly regretted saying that. Maybe the freckled boy hadn’t thought of it yet - it was Jean’s one way out if he _did_ use the book as a reference. Not that actually he would - that was ridiculous. But just in case.  
  
“I don’t think you’ll lie to me,” Marco said calmly. Jean realized they had stopped right outside his car, but Marco had walked with him all this way.  
“You may be an asshole,” Marco continued, and Jean flinched, “but it seems to me like you’re an honest one, and that’s the best kind there is.”  
  
Marco winked at him and started in the other direction.  
  
Jean’s breath caught in his throat. He fucking winked again. And it made Jean crazy.  
  
Although Marco was already a good distance away, he wanted the last word, so Jean called to him. “You gotta deal, freckles!”  
  
Marco waved a hand in response and kept walking. Somehow it didn’t feel like Jean had gotten the last word after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally just googled books for the titles, so if they don't have too many things in common with each other (as in they wouldn't be shelved near each other), my apologies.


	5. Into the Wild and Other Stupid Literature

Jean spent most of Thursday thinking about Marco. Not like _that_ , of course, Jean barely knew the kid. He just kept popping up in Jean's mind. A particularly nice person, someone else's smile, or freckles, it all went back to that darned kid. Jean could count on one hand the number of conversations they've had, but something about him drew Jean's attention.

Jean wasn't much of a people person. He didn't have a lot of friends, since most people couldn't stand him, and that was fine by Jean. He was perfectly satisfied with Connie and Sasha and Armin and Mikasa (not so much Eren). Jean was one of those people who just went through life. Just...living. He wasn't particularly happy, but then again he wasn't particularly unhappy either. Life to him was just something he did. Something everyone did. He wasn't preoccupied with the future, trying to do extracurriculars and getting his grades up, and he wasn't drowning in the past. Jean could move on easily. That being said, there wasn't ever really anything he had been that attached to, or any major change he'd had to go through. Jean had lived with his parents and his older brother and sister in the same house for fifteen years. He had gone to school and played with kids in the neighborhood and ate his vegetables like a good little boy. He played for a club basketball team and even got pretty good grades in middle school. But something had changed when he got to high school. There was no signal, not one event or one sudden epiphany. But Jean had stopped caring. Instead of studying for tests he played video games. Instead of working out he ate junk. Instead of minding his own business he got into fights. And Jean was fine with that. He wasn't trying to impress anyone anyways.

So yeah - some might consider him a fuck up. Because he was wasted potential, because he didn't care, because, well, he fucked up a lot. Jean was past caring, though. Let them call him what they will. It didn't change who he was, it just put a label on him.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

At lunch he sat where he normally did - near his friends, outside on the grass next to the the tree that leaned over too far left. He slumped down in between Connie, who was working on an overstuffed ham sandwich, and Sasha, who had a small buffet in front of her, and took out his own lunch. It was a plain peanut butter sandwich on wheat bread, like he had every day. (His mom was a demon about fiber and Jean didn't like jelly.) The bread had little seeds speckled all over it, and the way it was spread sort of reminded him of Marco's freckles.

"Hey Connie," he asked.

Connie had a mouthful of ham, but managed to get out a, "Yeah?"

"Do you know a kid named Marco?" 

After a giant gulp, "Marco who?"

Jean realized guiltily he didn't know Marco's last name. "Um, I don't know his last name."

"Well then you could be talking about any Marco!" Connie waved around his hands for emphasis.

Jean huffed. "Um...he has freckles?"

Connie broke out in a grin. "Oh! You mean Marco Bodt! Yeah, I know him."

Jean rolled his eyes.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just...just wondering," Jean said, staring back at his sandwich. Jean didn't even know what information he was after. Did he want to know who his friends were? His classes? His interests? Why did Jean even care?

"Ouch!" He said as Connie aggresively poked him. "What the fuck, man?"

"You didn't answer my question."

" _Fine_. It's just...you know how I have to work in the library after school?"

Connie nodded.

"Well, he works there, too. At the same time. As me."

Connie stared at him with wide eyes.

"We work together."

Connie nodded again. "Have you scared him off yet?"

Jean scoffed and slapped Connie's bald head. "I don't scare people off!"

"Uh, yeah, you do," Sasha put in. Jean glared at her, but she was all smirks.

He sighed, but refuted: "Actually, no - he likes me just fine."

Connie and Sasha giggled. "Are you sure about that?" Connie asked, smiling.

"Yes. Yes I am. Jerkface." Jean turned the other way and bit into his sandwich.

"Well, that's actually not much of a stretch. Marco likes everyone," Sasha said. 

Oh. Fuck. _That's_ why he tolerated Jean. He was one of those people - the optimists. The ones who put up with Jean. He didn't _actually_ like him - Jean had been blind to think so - he was just doing his duty as the resident nice guy.

"Oh," Jean said quietly, nibbling his sandwich.

"Oh, come off it," Connie said, slapping Jean on the back. "I'm sure he likes you for the pessimistic fuck up you are!" Jean turned around and playfully knocked Connie over, and both Sasha and he laughed at the grassy Afro Connie had ringed around his head.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

English was boring, yet again. Jean spent the whole period staring at the back of Marco's head. Yet again. 

The bell rung eventually, though, and Marco gave Jean a smile before heading out to somewhere that wasn't the library. Jean smiled back, and then scolded himself for doing so. That freckled bastard probably didn't give a fuck about him.

The library would be lonely, Jean thought. Not that Marco and he talked a lot, but it was nice to have his reassuring presence there. Today he would have to do everything alone. If Jean ever gave a fuck, he would be worried he'd mess up. But really, he could care less.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first person that walked up to Jean that day in the library asked, "Excuse me, but can you help me find a book?"

The boy - if you could call him a boy - gave him a pleading little look. He was very, very tall with dark shaggy hair and a nervous disposition.

Jean sighed, but refrained from saying _Go fuck yourself_ , instead settling for, "What book?"

The boy looked a little less nervous. "Um, it's called _The Story of My Life_. I think it's a biography?"

Jean tapped on the keyboard, searching for the book. There it was; _The Story of My Life_  by Helen Keller. It looked like there was one left.

Jean stepped out from behind the desk and signaled for the kid to follow him. He eagerly trailed Jean as they stepped into the back end of the library.

"Keller, Keller, Keller... That should be right next to - "

Fuck.

"...Krakauer."

 _Fuck_.

"Um, is there something wrong?"

Jean snapped up. "What? No. No, nothing's wrong." He glared at the boy for good measure. "Why the fuck would you think anything's wrong?!"

The guy started looking uncomfortable again. Good. The dick shouldn't've asked for that particular book. 

Jean scowled and approached the shelve that had _Into The Wild_ on it. He growled at the row of white spined books before reaching higher on the shelf to find _The Story of My Life_. He thumbed through the books until he found it, and snatched it out of its place and shoved it at the boy.

"Oh. Um, okay. Thank -" but Jean had already taken off back to the desk.

 

After the kid had check out his stupid fucking book that _just so happened_ to be really close to Krakauer, Jean realized what an idiot he had been. More than usual, that is.

"Hey, kid!" He called after the dark haired giant.

The kid turned around, wide eyed. "Uh -" 

"What do you need that book for?"

The kid hesitated but said, "Independent study. For Lit. It was recommended by a friend."

Aha! "Marco put you up to this, didn't he?!" Jean yelled.

Everyone in the library turned his way, but Jean ignored them.

"Well?"

The tall boy looked generally confused. "Um, I don't know a Marco..."

Everyone else continued to stare at them, while Jean glared at giant-boy and giant-boy nervously flitted his eyes around.

"Listen, I gotta go..." The tall boy said, slowly walking away.

"Tell Marco he didn't fool me! I can see right through him!" Jean yelled after the kid as he scurried away.

"Dipshit," he said to himself, Marco's devious little freckles in his eye's mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm vacationing right now and don't have access to a computer - only my iPad - so sorry for any mistakes! I'll try to update more when I get back next week!
> 
> Also in the mean time if you want more Marco/Jean (honestly who wouldn't?) I wrote a one shot I just wrote: Jean Gets Stuck in a Shirt http://archiveofourown.org/works/1999668


	6. Lunchtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit – I just realized that earlier in the fic I said Jean was assigned lunch detentions….haha just kidding! Morning detentions – not lunch detentions. So we could have this fun little scene! (And the past lunch scene…sorry!)
> 
> Aaahhh! Writing without contradicting yourself is hard!

Jean forgot his lunch on Friday. That hardly ever happened - Jean would be eating a lunch of peanut butter sandwiches on his deathbed. Okay, maybe it happened more than hardly. Maybe once or twice a week. Maybe. Though he would always prefer a peanut butter sandwich. He was craving one now, but, as he was so hungry he could eat anything right now, he dug up some change from the bottom of his pockets and proceeded towards the cafeteria.

The cafeteria was just a long bar - one side with irritated students, the other with irritated lunch ladies, and the middle being occupied by and array of questionable food items. In all honesty it wasn’t _that_ bad, but none of it looked nearly as good as a mom-made peanut butter sandwich. Except maybe that pizza. Yeah, that pizza was looking good…

Jean grabbed a tray and got in line. He grabbed a set of utensils, wrapped in a plastic package, and slid down the aisle, waiting as patiently as he could for the other kids to move their asses so he could grab a slice of that delectable looking cheese pizza. It was behind a pepperoni pizza and a Hawaiian style pizza, all the way down at the very end, right before where they had to pay. Just Jean’s luck. He would have to wait until the very end for his meal.

Jean was about to reach for a milk when the person next to him said, “Hey, Jean.”

Jean paused. Who would be saying hi to him? None of his friends bought lunch. (Except Eren, who was two spots in front of him. Still too close for Jean’s liking.) And the only other person Jean had really talked nice with was -

Marco. The kid was smiling brightly at him. Jean could have sworn his freckles were smiling, too.

“Hey,” he said, and he grabbed the milk and moved down the aisle, Marco following after him. Jean didn’t really want to engage Marco in conversation, despite the fact he kind of wanted to stare at Marco's jawline. In the span of time since he’d last seen him, Jean had realized he probably didn’t care for Jean, so no need to try and make friends with someone who probably didn’t want to be friends with him. But more importantly the kid was a DIRTY CHEATER and Jean did not need those kinds of people in his life. But for all his faults (which number right now at two) Jean couldn’t help but kind of like the kid; his emotions were conflicted so he just wanted to ignore Marco for now.

“So how did yesterday go? At the library?” Marco asked. He grabbed a smushed burrito while Jean eyed the pizza. About half of it was left. Eren looked up from his tray just then, and made eye contact with Jean. They both narrowed their eyes, and Jean turned back to Marco, not wanting to look at the little shit more than he had to.

“Fine,” he grumbled. _Except for, you know, the part where you CHEATED and sent some guy to do your dirty work,_ he thought. Jean saw past the freckles and smiles to a conniving little bastard. Except for those freckles and smiles seemed pretty genuine, too.

“That’s good. You don’t have anything on your tray yet. What’re you planning on getting?”

“Pizza.”

“Oh. What kind? The pepperoni here is pretty good, and I’m not a huge fan of Hawaiian, but I’ve been told - “

“Cheese.”

“That’s it? You don’t like anything on it?”

This kid was persistent, Jean had to admit. His nice-guyness ran deeper than Jean had anticipated.

"I’m a man of simple tastes.” Simple tastes that would be satisfied only with a slice of delectable cheese pizza. Which was slowly dwindling in numbers. The trays of most of the people in front of him were filled, but Eren’s was noticeably not.

“I see. Say, remember on Wednesday we made that bet? I was wondering if you did end up using Into the Wild…?”

Jean scowled at Marco, but the freckled bastard just laughed. “I knew it! I told you so. Be prepared, Jean. You have some homework to do.” Jean said nothing as they continued down the aisle. So much for ignoring him. Jean just…couldn’t help but answer back. There was something about his face and the lightness in his voice that just made you want to talk to him, and it irritated Jean to no end. Jean would just have to try harder to ignore him. Maybe then Marco would just stop talking. It was easy enough to do when there was one piece of cheese piece left to ogle, and only two people standing in between him and his wonderful lunch.

“Do you have the book with you? I mean, I have my copy if you don’t have yours - ”

But Jean blocked out any noise as Eren’s hand reached for the pizza, as if in slow motion, and Jean’s eyes widened, and he mouthed a breathy _No!_ under his breath. Eren’s fingers wrapped around the golden brown crust, crushing it flippantly in his evil grip. He pulled it towards him, and put it on his tray.

“What the fuck, Jaegar?!” he yelled. Half the cafeteria turned to look at him, but he ignored them. Eren faced him, and the poor kid in the middle of them quickly scrambled out of the way. Wise choice, kid.

“What is it, horseface?” Eren demanded.

“You saw me eyeing that pizza! Don’t pretend!” He waved a finger in Eren’s direction, and an angry scowl crossed over the brunette’s face.

“I was before you in line! What the fuck are you even talking about!?”

Jean clenched his hands into fists. Fucking Jaegar. He was always messing with Jean like that. He always knew the best way to get on Jean’s nerves. Like stealing the pizza he knew Jean wanted and then denying it.

“Just give me the pizza,” he demanded.

“Jean - “ Marco said from behind him but Jean ignored him.He brushed off the hand Marco had set on his arm.

“And why would I do that?” Eren pestered. He took a step forward, right into Jean’s bubble of personal space. Oh, no you didn’t, Jaegar.

“Jean - "

“Because you don’t even like cheese! You just took it to annoy me!” He stepped up to meet Eren, a mere foot away from the fucker. His fists were ready, and Eren had that evil look in his bright eyes that Jean knew always came before he threw a punch.

“JEAN!” Jean snapped his head around towards the noise. Marco stood in front of the two boys. He shoved his way in between them, pushing away their fists and forcing them away from each other. “Do you guys really want to do this?” he asked calmly, looking both boys in the eyes. Jean relaxed, not even having realized how tense he was. He stopped to think. The adrenaline had stopped flowing - and he paused to think. He couldn’t get into another fight. Not now. Not now that he was handing by his last thread of hope. He looked around - the proctors and lunch ladies stationed near them eyed them anxiously, while the few tables near them watched in woeful awe. He looked at Eren, who had a dark look on his face, but not one that was full of hate and anger, but full of realization and guilt.

“I - “ Eren began, but his gaze sunk to the ground. Jean sighed. He knew what he needed to do, of course, but that didn’t mean he wanted to do it.

“Keep the pizza,” he spat at Eren. “I’ll get something else.”

He turned towards the counter and grabbed a slice of pepperoni. “Jean - “ Eren stopped as he met Jean’s glare. Eren took his tray and headed towards the lunch lady at the end of the counter to buy his food, and quickly went away.

Jean sighed. He didn’t feel nearly as fired up as usual, which was good, he supposed. A hand clapped him a little too hard on the back. Marco was smiling proudly at him.

“That was great Jean! You just avoided - “

“Yeah, whatever.” He ignored the bubbling bastard and bought his meal, tuning out all the mutters and stares from the on-lookers. He could see Marco deflate a little in his peripheral vision, but he choose to tune him out, too.

“Hey Jean,” Marco called before Jean could leave. “Want to sit with me? I mean, I know Eren normally sits near you and since, you know, stuff just happened, maybe you want to get away from him?” Jean almost turned around and said yes. He really, really wanted to, but his masochistic side told him _No, you should sit with Eren and your friends and suffer being pitied and irritated rather than sit with the nice guy with the nice smile._ “No thanks, Marco.” And Jean headed towards his usual spot, ready for to face chastising from his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on a trip for a week and a half, and i'll try to update sometime next week, but I'm going to be pretty busy :P


	7. The Freckled Jesus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I was gone from home and super busy the last week and a half. But I tried to write a bit more than usual! I'll try to update once a week!

Lunch was long and awkward. His whole group just sat there in silence, and Jean worked extra hard not to make eye contact with Eren. Fortunately that wasn’t too hard. They were both embarrassed by their petty fight, it would seem.

Despite how he had acted towards the bastard, Jean was actually pretty thankful for Marco. Who knows what would have happened had Marco not stopped the fight? Actually, Jean knew exactly what – he would have been expelled. 

Jean survived the rest of the day in interminable moping. He just couldn’t stop thinking about all of his faults. Why did he get so worked up all the time? Why was he always so angry? Why did he lose the stupid bet to Marco? But he didn’t lose – the freckled bastard cheated.

When he finally walked into the library at the end of the day, Jean was greeted by one of Marco’s smiles. Except it was really more of a smirk.

"Shut up," he spat at the freckled bastard.

"I didn't say anything!" Marco said, but he smiled through it and Jean sighed.

"Stop smiling. You didn't win," Jean said.

"Wait, what do you mean? You said at lunch - "

"You didn’t let me finish!" Jean snapped at him. "You set me up! You told that guy to come in here yesterday and get a book near Krakauer! 

To Jean's surprise, Marco looked a little hurt. His posture sagged a little bit, his eyes turned large and brown and sad, and his eyebrows furrowed a little bit and his smile just about disappeared. For some reason this made Jean really upset.

"Don't, don't look a me like that! You're the one you rigged the bet!"

"Look at you like what?" He asked all innocently.

Jean became frustrated now. "You know...like that! With the eyebrows and the puppy dog eyes and shit! Stop it."

Marco, of all things, giggled; though his sad expression didn’t wear off entirely.

Jean rolled his eyes in exasperation. What was it with this kid?!

Marco rigged the bet. It was obvious, even if the bastard wouldn’t admit it and instead just act like he was hurt. Jean had no doubt that this little act would continue for their entire hour together, and Jean didn’t think he could bare another minute of it. 

Plus he wanted to prove that he wasn’t as dumb as Marco thought.

Marco was flipping through the random books that lie strewn across the counter, sad expression still marring his freckled face. Jean sighed.

“Fine. I’ll do it anyways.”

The freckled face immediately lit up as Marco turned towards Jean with a big smile on his face.

“Really?! Jean that’s great!”

Jean tried to bite back a smile but failed. Marco’s smiles were too contagious.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Jean tried to brush off Marco’s enthusiasm but the kid was still smiling at him.

“So,” Marco said, “English homework.”

Jean sighed and pulled out the book they were reading: _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_. The copy was battered but still held together by the spine, but just by a metaphorical thread, and the pages were old and yellowed and bent.

"So Jean," said Marco, leaning against the counter.

"So Marco," Jean countered.

"Do you know what the homework was?"

"Not a fucking clue."

"Do you know what chapter we're on?"

"...no."

"Okay....how far did you read?"

"Um, I think to chapter 5."

"...oh."

"Is that...is that okay?"

"We can work with that. How about you start by reading up to the assigned chapter."

"And what chapter is that?"

"Chapter 16."

"What the fuck?! We're on chapter 16?"

"Yes, Jean, and if you had been paying attention, you would have known that."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Fine. I guess I have no choice,” he joked, and Marco laughed.

 “Jean, the fact that you’re making the choice to do this is all the better.” Marco sounded really proud. And Jean hadn’t even done the work yet. It was weird having someone have confidence in him – actually applaud him on making the right decisions. Not that his parents weren’t supportive, but…this was different. It made Jean actually want to do the work, to live up to Marco’s expectations. 

So Jean took the next forty-five minutes to catch up on the reading, then the rest of the time to complete the worksheet Rivaille had given them that had them list examples of certain themes and explain them. Simple enough, really, especially with Marco guiding him through it over his shoulder. Just guiding, though – Jean did all the real work.

At the end of their shift, Jean felt accomplished. He did do his homework, sure, he never usually put effort into it. He hadn’t put this much effort into something for awhile.

And Marco’s proud smile was enough of a reward for Jean.

“Uh, Marco?” he asked as they were walking out.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

Of course he would make this hard.

“For..for making me do the work.”

“It was just one assignment, Jean.” 

The bastard didn’t understand. “NO! I mean, yeah, but it was more than that…I’m…not really the best student, and I don’t care about school that much, but…I don’t know. It was – it was good to finally do something I guess?”

They walked in silence towards Jean’s car. The wind blew dried across the surface of the asphalt, creating a slight scratching noise to fill in the silence.

As he went to open the door, Marco asked, “Why are you helping out in the library, Jean?”

Jean frowned and turned back around. “I thought you knew.”

Marco shook his head, so Jean went on. “I get in too many fights and my grades are shit. Erwin – er, Mr. Smith – said that he would have to expel me if I got into any more fights. And to prevent that and to ‘build character’, I suppose, he’s making me work after school at the library.”

Marco nodded and looked down at his feet. “For how long?”

“I dunno. He said until he saw fit to let me go.”

“Oh. Well, see you Monday, Jean.” He started walking away.

“Hey Marco!” he called after the boy.

“Yeah?” 

“Why do you work there?”

Marco hesitated before calling back. “Because I like to help people!”

Jean didn’t doubt him in the slightest.

 

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Monday morning Mr. Rivaille asked Jean to stay after class.

“What,” he asked, holding a paper in front of Jean, “is this?”

“Uh…my homework?” Jean rocked back and forth on his heels, wondering nervously what Rivaille could possibly find wrong with it. But, knowing Rivaille, there were a multitude of things.

“ _Your_ homework,” Long, pale fingers tapped impatiently on the desk.

“Yeah… _my_ homework.”

Rivaille brought the paper away from Jean’s face and started looking it over nonchalantly. Was it completely terrible? Was he really so stupid Rivaille had to call it out on him? Did Marco trick him and set him up for failure? 

No, Jean couldn’t see Marco doing that. Obviously he had gone through great lengths to make sure Jean did his homework, and he wouldn’t waste that opportunity to spread goodness, the freckled bastard. More like freckled Jesus, he thought.

That reminded him that he was suppose to be in the library with said Jesus right now.

“Is there…is there something wrong with it? Because I have to be somewhere - “

“And where, may I ask, is that?”

“I, uh, I work at the library after school. And I should be there, like, now.”

Rivaille glared at him and Jean swallowed nervously.

“Your homework, Jean, was done quite well.”

_…done quite well._ “Wait what? What did you say? ‘Cause I thought you said - “

“Yes, Jean, I said your homework was done well. Above average, actually. Which is why I must ask who did it for you?”

Who did it…who did it for him. Fucking Rivaille was accusing him of cheating! After Jean worked his fucking ass off to do that stupid worksheet and catch up in the book and even though Marco gave him direction, that was all Jean’s thoughts and observations and - 

“What?! That is MY fucking work! I did that! _Me!_ I know you hate me and think I’m stupid but if there is one thing I’m not, it’s a cheater! If I cared half that much about my grades don’t you think I would have cheated more by now! I’m fucking FAILING half my classes because I don’t give a fuck about the grades you people brand me with, and the ONE FUCKING TIME I _choose_ to do my work, you accuse me of stealing someone else’s! Well maybe I’m not as dumb as you thought, Rivaille; you’re as close minded as Huck Finn right now, but you know what? He can change! If he can learn accept Jim, you can accept that THIS IS _MY_ WORK!”

Jean was heaving by the end of it, and Rivaille’s eyes were wide. 

Jean’s first thought was that it was the closest thing to an expression he had ever seen on his teacher’s face. 

His second thought was _Fuck I’m going to get expelled because I swore at a teacher again._

But Rivaille just stared at him while Jean calmed down. He glanced back at the paper, then at Jean, then at the paper again.

“Why’d you do it, then?”

“…what?”

“Why’d you do your homework if you don’t care about your grades?”

Jean thought about it. Most directly, because he lost a bet to Marco, and didn’t want to deal with a sad freckled Jesus. But was that it? He could have just not done it, and dealt with his sad face. But he did it for more than that. He guessed that he wanted to show Marco that he wasn’t just some dumb kid - he had brains, too. Maybe not as much as Marco, but he wasn’t just a fuck-up.

“To prove I could do it.”

“To whom?”

_To Marco. To you. To my friends_. “To myself.”

Silence again. Jean twiddled his fingers behind his back, anxiously awaiting Rivaille’s punishment.

“You may leave now Jean.”

“Wait - that’s it? Aren’t you going to reprimand me for cheating or yelling at you or something?”

Rivaille sighed and clasped his fingers together under his chin.

“No. I don’t think you cheated. I had my suspicions, of course, but your argument was very…genuine.” Jean felt his face turn red. Had he really been _that_ transparent? “And I will not report you on one condition.

Jean sighed with relief. “Anything.” Rivaille almost grinned at that.

“Do the assignments for the rest of this month as well as you have done this one.”

Jean sighed with frustration. “Fine,” he spat. “Can I go now?”

“Yes, you may go.”

Jean rolled his eyes and slung his bag over his shoulder. As he was walking out, Rivaille called from behind him, “And Jean?

He turned around. 

“Don’t waste what potential you have.”


	8. A Week in the Life of Jean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a bit short. I promise the next one will be longer! 
> 
> Also I made a [tumblr](http://satyrsyd37.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (Did the link work? PLEASE WORK)
> 
> (I THINK IT WORKED)

The next week passed much like the week before. He went to his classes, half-assed his homework, (except for English; he was terrified of what Rivaille would do to him if he didn’t make it perfect), went to the library after school, drove home and played video games and watched TV until he went to bed.

His afternoons at the library were surprisingly enjoyable. Well, it really shouldn’t have been that surprising - after Jean silently forgave him for cheating in their bet, Jean was surprised Marco didn’t constantly have a halo over his head. The boy was golden. He was nice to every single person he helped at the library; he smiled at everyone, from the bitchy freshmen to the soul-sucking teachers to Jean himself. He was always diligent with his homework, completing it all with his greatest effort, taking the time to make sure every single assignment was completed satisfactorily. His clothes, if a little ragged, were neat, his hair was combed and he always called Shadis ‘sir’.

Monday afternoon Jean had told him (reluctantly) what had happened with Rivaille and Marco promised to check Jean’s homework for him, since the kid was a genius in English. He was able to spot the tiniest symbols and allusions and he was able to articulate himself well.

Marco had said it was because he loved reading. And Jean could how his skill had developed from that. Every spare moment he wasn’t checking out a book for someone (although Jean had taken to doing this job more, while Marco sorted the books and put the back at the end of the day. Not because Jean was scared of getting lost in the maze again. Obviously not.) or doing his homework or making polite conversation with Jean, he spent reading. He always seemed to have a book with him. Most recently it had been _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , by Oscar Wilde, and although Jean was sure he had started it on Tuesday, by Friday he was just about finished. Jean asked how he could read so fast, but Marco again replied that it was because he read a lot.

“What’s your favorite book?” Jean asked one day.

 Marco’s face lit up. “Oh, I don’t have favorite. All books are different, and they have different purposes and messages and I simply couldn’t choose - “

 _Of course you couldn’t_ , Jean thought.

“ - but if I had to, I would say the Harry Potter series.” Marco finished, his thought already drifting someplace else. He did that when he talked about books, Jean noticed.

He was somewhat hesitant to ask, but Jean said, “Why’s that?”

Marco faked looking astonished. “Why?! Do I even need to explain? You’ve read Harry Potter, right, Jean?”

“Er,” Jean looked down and twisted the hem of his shirt in his fingers. He didn’t read outside of school much, and he definitely wouldn’t read a series _that_ long, if he read at all. “…I’ve seen the movies?”

Marco gasped, loud and with so much shock that half the kids working in the library turned their heads. “Jean! I thought you were better than this!” Marco had so much disdain in his voice that Jean almost laughed. It didn’t quite fit Marco’s angelic freckled face, but Jean felt bad anyways.

“You need to read them. Like, now,” Marco demanded. “I’ll go fetch the first one for you.” He started off to the maze but Jean snagged his sleeve, causing Marco to stumble back.

“Whoa!” Jean leaned in to catch him and he tumbled into Jean’s arms.

“Sorry,” Jean said. He held Marco close to him, so Marco’s head was against his chest and his own arms were wrapped around Marco’s. He felt a thrill in his stomach and his face was burning up. Quickly, he pushed Marco out of his grasp and Marco jumped out just as quick. Jean scratched the back of his neck, turning his gaze down as to hide his blush. 

“Sorry,” he said again.

“S’all right. But I’ll just - “

“Marco?” he asked, before the brunette could run off again. “I don’t want to…I can’t really read anything right now.”

“Oh,” Marco’s reply was quiet, and his face fell just a little.

Jean winced. “It’s just - I’m not really the best reader, and I really need to concentrate on Huck Finn right now if I want to get through Rivaille’s homework.”

 Marco just looked at him. “Oh.”

“But maybe sometime when I’m less busy?” Jean sincerely hoped that would cheer him up.

 A small smile appeared on Marco’s face. “Okay.”

 But throughout that week one sentence kept penetrating his thoughts. _Don’t waste what potential you have_. What did Rivaille mean by that? Did he think Jean had potential - that he was worth something and was actually smart after all? Or did he just have so little hope for Jean to succeed that he feared the worst for him if he didn’t try at all? The comment haunted him as he went though his daily routine and as he worked on his homework especially. It didn’t help that Marco helped pound that thought into his head with his perpetual encouragement.

That weekend Jean contemplated his life. The last week had passed without much anything happening, and he had done actual work. Maybe he should get a job. Most of his friends had had at least a summer job, but Jean kept putting it off. His parents were well off enough.

Jean just didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. He always figured he’d just go to his community college, since his grades couldn’t do him much better, and major in something generic that got him a job that made enough money so that he could enjoy his video games and TV shows. Maybe find a nice girl. Or boy. Jean hadn’t thought too much about his sexuality, but he was increasingly aware of the guys at his school; their hair and shoulders and firm hands and a certain jawline. It made his heart beat faster and it quickened his breath.

But Jean didn’t get to preoccupied with his thoughts. After all, he had to catch up on Downton Abbey.


	9. Carpooling is Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? I have indicated I mean to write twenty chapters? Yes, my friends, that is true - just wanted to give you guys an idea about how it'll be. Most likely it'll change. I have a lot more I want to write. *giggles manically*
> 
> Also - happy one month anniversary, fic! I have been working on this for a month now. *gasp* *pats self on back because I have never worked on something this long before*
> 
> Things may or may not start to get heavier now. But lots of fluff to come! Enjoy!

Monday morning Marco came in with a limp. It was on his left leg and it was very slight, but Jean had been in enough fights to know how to cover up a limp and he could tell that Marco was trying (and failing) to do just that.

He was coming back from fixing and issue with one of the computers when Jean had asked, “Are you okay?” Usually Jean didn’t ask about people’s lives. They could keep their shit to themselves, Jean didn’t care. But Marco was his friend, he assumed, and the slight wince on Marco’s freckled face was really bugging him. 

“What?” Marco’s expression seemed vacant as he returned to his studies. A math book lay on the counter, and Jean recognized what Marco was studying. Perhaps Marco wasn’t the perfect freckled Jesus he thought, since Jean had taken that course last year.

“You were limping.”

Marco’s eyes widened a bit, and he shuffled uncomfortably. “Um. Yeah.” He looked even more intently into the text.

“What happened?” he asked. Why did he care so much? Marco was obviously trying to avoid the subject. Normally Jean wouldn’t care. Why did he care? What the fuck, Jean?

Marco blushed a bit, but Jean stared him down. If he was going to be nosy about Marco’s life, he was going to do it effectively.

“I, um, tripped down my stairs. I think I twisted my ankle. Or something,” Marco said quietly. 

“Oh.” Well that was anticlimactic. But Marco said he was hurt. Jean felt like he should do something about it - that’s what people usually did, right? When someone was hurt? They would help them by…he didn’t know, give them a bandaid? Pain medication or something? Fuck, he couldn’t do either of those in these circumstances. “Maybe you should, I don’t know, go to the nurse?"

Marco gave a breathy little laugh. “It’s not that bad. It doesn’t hurt that much.” 

Jean frowned. Wait - Marco was supposed to except his help. “Are you…you sure? If you twisted your ankle - “

“I said I’ll be fine!” Marco interrupted. He seemed almost, well, panicked. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I have math to do, anyways.” Marco reached for a calculator.

Jean sighed. He gave up. Here he was, trying to help like the good citizen he wasn’t, and Marco was being stubborn. His loss.

The next twenty minutes or so were relatively quiet. Marco concentrated on his math, and Jean pulled out Huck Finn. Well, he had already started trying, hadn’t he? No harm in finishing. Rivaille hadn’t said anything last Friday, hadn’t even given him the evil eye or anything. But Jean figured, just to be safe, that he would just put in effort for the assignments for the rest of the unit. Plus he kind of liked Huck Finn - he was smart, that kid, and Jean enjoyed (perhaps a little too much) how he could deceive everyone so easily. Though he did want to smack the kid every time he was ignorant of how racist he was. How could a kid so smart be so blind?

Eventually Jean noticed how frustrated Marco was with the problem he was on. His brows were furrowed and his jaw tight, but his eyes were fleeting and his fingers drummed impatiently on the countertop. He had been staring at the page for the last, like, five minutes, not even reaching for his pencil.

Jean reached over and put a hand on Marco’s incessant fingers. Marco flinched away, and Jean quickly pulled his hand back. “Are you stuck?” Jean asked.

Marco looked down and whispered, “Yeah.”

Jean felt kind of awkward. Did he just ask for help? Was that an invitation for him to ask if Marco needed help? Did Marco even _want_ his help? “Um…do you, I don’t know, want some help?”

Marco looked up hopefully. “Have you done the homework?" 

Jean cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. “I, well, took the course, um, last year.” _Gosh, Jean, when did you become so flustered?_ (When he realized how enormous and illustrious Marco’s eyes were) _Pull yourself together, shithead!_

Marco laughed a little. “Of course. Duh. Almost all of my friends are in Pre calculus like you, not still stuck in Algebra 2. I kind of suck at math.”

Jean frowned. “But, you’re so smart! You’ve helped me so much with English, and you study a lot and everything!"

“I’m good in English, I guess. But math has never been my strength.”

“Oh.” Jean was surprised. Then again Marco didn’t seem much like a math person. Too soft. For Jean, though, math was the one area that he excelled at. Not that he did his homework in that class either, but when the tests came he usually didn’t have a problem snatching a B. His teachers had told him over the years that if he tried harder, he could even get an A in the class. But Jean didn’t really care that much.

“…which problem is it?” he asked. Maybe he could pay Marco back for helping him in English. Without him he never would have managed Rivaille’s homework. (Or even started it)

“This one, number one hundred four…”

Jean proceeded to explain to Marco how to figure out the graph for a hyperbola from its asymptotes, which was a lot harder to explain than Jean thought it would be. But after much hand gesturing and yanking Marco’s pencil out of his hand to explain it properly on paper and angrily referring to the shitty lessons from the book itself, a graph with two curved lines (symmetrical across the y-axis, in fact) was drawn out on the paper in front of them, barely visible through the hastily erased pencil marks underneath it.

“Thanks,” Marco said gratefully.

Jean nodded satisfactorily. “Anytime.”

“Really?” Oh shit. He had just implied he would help him again.

Jean wasn’t the helping type - who wanted help from a fuck-up like him? But Jean hadn’t minded helping Marco that much. Even though the problem was fucking stupid and the directions in that textbook were crap. And the way that Marco was looking at him, with a gleam of hope in his eyes, Jean could only say, “Yeah. As long as you help me with English. I’ll be in deep shit with Rivaille if you don’t.”

Marco laughed again and said, “Of course, Jean. I’d love to.” And Jean’s heart skipped a beat. That happened with friends, right?

They spent the rest of the time at the library helping out students and joking about Rivaille and his weird fascination with Eren. 

Once they (well, Marco) had put away all the books, they grabbed their stuff and headed out. Marco’s limp was clearly visible, and it really, really bugged Jean. Was he just going to walk home like that? Jean was no doctor, but it seemed counter-productive to his health. And painful. Jean didn’t know how far away Marco lived, but he didn’t want to imagine Marco even just walking down the street with his face wincing with pain.

Before Marco could walk off, Jean asked, “Want a ride home?”

“Huh?” Marco said, looking a bit confused.

“I can take you home. If you like,” he continued, and Marco looked at him with those bright eyes again. Jean tugged at his collar. It was pretty hot for November, wasn’t it? “I mean, you walk home, and I would, I don’t know, feel bad if you walked home with a limp?” There he was, getting flustered again.

Marco smiled at him, but it was that sad smile that Marco had been giving him all day. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you - “

“No seriously, it’s okay – “

“You don’t have to, honestly – “

“Really, I insist.”

“Well – “

Jean interrupted with an aggravated sigh. No way he was letting freckled Jesus walk home like that. “That wasn’t an offer, it was a demand. Come on.” He pulled Marco over to his car and opened up the passage’s door, and ushered him in like a chauffeur. Marco giggled, and Jean quickly hurried over to the driver’s side before Marco could try and escape.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Jean had a Prius. When he had first gotten the car, he had hated it. The black shine of the exterior had reflected his black attitude towards the thing. But his parents had forced it on him since they didn’t want to have to pay a lot for gas, which Jean understood. But still - a Prius?! Only fags and environmental freaks drove those. But he had had the car for half a year now, and he had kind of grown to like it. Not that he had told any of his friends, or anything. They still poked fun at him for having one, and though it was hard to maintain a tough guy appearance with his douchey car, Jean pulled it off. He was able to brush off the smirks of guys with big trucks by laughing to himself about the absurd amount of money they were spending on gas.

“Er, are you sure it isn’t too much trouble, Jean?” Marco asked.

Jean buckled his seat belt and started the car. “I wouldn’t have offered if it was going to be too much trouble.” He flashed the brunette one of his rare grins, and Marco (what do you know) smiled right back at him.

Satisfied, Jean started the car and backed out of the parking lot. “Which way?” he asked Marco. Marco pointed right, and Jean turned and continued on that way.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said to Marco in the brief absence of noise, during which Marco had only spoken to give him directions.

“I don’t want to distract you,” Marco replied, gazing out the window.

“What, you don’t trust my pro driving skills?” Jean smirked, keeping his eyes on the road.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Marco glaring fondly at him, and he laughed. 

They drove through their town, mostly in silence. It was a true suburbia, with dozens of streets of identical houses, clean sidewalks and faceless business buildings and strip malls. Identical trees lined the streets that were regularly paved and painted, and they leaves had turned orange in the fall weather. Jean knew the town was fairly new, and that’s why everything looked so clean, but it still gave him the creeps sometimes. They passed by a little elementary school and the community pool that was preparing to close up for the winter and a park with green grass littered with crispy leaves and small children and their soccer moms. As he drove further by Marco’s direction, they passed the town center, which was bustling with activity, and made their way to the slightly older and less privileged part of town.

The drive was over quickly, though not as quickly as Jean would’ve thought, since he assumed that because Marco walked home everyday he lived close by. It only took five minutes to get to Marco’s house by car. But that was by car. As he turned into the last street, Jean asked Marco how long it took him to walk home.

“…about forty five minutes.”

“Jesus! That’s a long walk. The farthest I walk every day is from the parking lot to class. And you walk home every day?”

Marco nodded. He seemed oddly subdued, and Jean wondered why.

Finally they pulled up to Marco’s house. Jean honestly didn’t know what he was expecting. A mansion? No. An apartment? Maybe. But whatever it was, it wasn’t this. 

Marco house was just… kind of sad. It was off a side road, and one of three houses crammed in the mini cul-de-sac. It was a simple rectangle, one story tall, not very wide, and made of wooden planks, unlike most of the cement buildings in their suburbia. The planks were painted white, but they were faded and graying, and the wood was decaying in some places. It had a red-shingled roof, but the sun had faded it orange. There were cracks in it, too. It had wooden steps leading up to a little porch on which sat an old rocking chair, which looked twice as old as the house itself. The grass around the house was mostly dead, and there were two or three spiny trees sprouting from the back. The door was a sad greyish brown. Broken shades could just be made out in the two little windows. The windows looked like eyes and the porch looked like a mouth and Jean could’ve sworn the dwelling was frowning.

And although they hadn’t been talking, the atmosphere suddenly got quieter. No wonder Marco was so anxious about Jean driving him home. He probably was embarrassed about his house; Jean knew _he_ would have been. Deep down, he knew it was wrong for Marco to be ashamed, and that he should have reassured him somehow, but Jean was still Jean (in other words, an ass) and he was too stunned by the house to say anything.

Marco was already getting out of the car, though, mumbling a faint “Thanks for the ride,” and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He slammed the door to Jean’s car before Jean could get a word out, and made for the door of the shack, his shoulders hunched. Jean opened up his door and made to go after Marco, to say, well, he didn’t know, but the front door slammed before he could say so much as “Wait.”


	10. Winter is Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY but I had writers block and this chapter DID NOT want to be written for some reason...
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://satyrsyd37.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Fluff is coming. trust me.

Jean forgot his lunch the next day. Again. And of course, as the universe would have it no other way, guess who was next to him in line in the cafeteria? None other than freckled Jesus himself. 

Naturally they hadn’t spoken since yesterday, since the only class they had together was English, which was last period. But Jean had a feeling that Marco wouldn’t have talked to him anyways. He still seemed embarrassed about yesterday, only offering Jean a smile in recognition when Jean got in line behind him.

“Hey Marco,” Jean said. _Look at you, Jean, willingly making conversation with someone. That’s a first._

“Hey,” Marco responded quietly, not quite meeting Jean’s eye.

They moved down the line a little, and Jean grabbed a milk.

“So,” he said, “Your leg still bothering you?” Jean knew it was, he had seen the poor bastard limping to class this morning. But Marco didn’t need to know Jean had been watching him. He was just – concerned, that’s all. Didn’t need to creep the fucker out, you know?

“Um, it’s not too bad, really - “

“'Cause I can give you a ride home again.”

“Oh.” Marco grabbed a burrito. He met Jean’s eyes, just for a brief moment, and hesitated, “I don’t know…I mean, I’m okay with just walking…”

Jean with sick of this shit. “Marco. You’re hurting. You need help. It’s okay to have help sometimes. It’s not a problem for me. I want to help you. Seriously - we’re friends, right?” Marco looked up, smiling and nodding. “Well friends help each other. I’ll give you as many rides home as you need.”

Marco smiled, “Okay. If it’s not too much trouble.” Jean glared at him, and Marco laughed. “Okay, okay - fine. Thank you."

They both paid for their meals and Marco again invited Jean to sit with him. And Jean thought, well, why the fuck not? Marco and him were friends. His own friends wouldn’t mind dealing without his shit for a day. So Marco led them to a table - inside, which Jean wasn’t use to - with a couple of nice looking kids. Jean recognized Franz and Hannah ( _are they dating? I think they’re dating_ ), one super nice girl called Mina who was in Jean’s math class, and one guy whose name Jean forgot, but he had massive blonde sideburns, and Jean forced himself to hold back any comments about the 70s for the sake of Marco, because they were Marco’s friends, and he wanted to make a good impression. For once.

It actually went okay. Jean did end up asking sideburn kid if he had stolen his hair from the Wolverine or Elvis, but the kid (Thomas, Jean found out eventually) just laughed, and so did everyone else. It didn’t surprise Jean that Marco had recruited the kindest, most forgiving students on campus for friends. He would’ve been surprised had it been any other way.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

December rolled around, with brisk, cold air and frost and red noses and Christmas colors. Jean had convinced Marco to keep letting him carpool, even after his ankle had healed. He would have offered to drive Marco to school too, but he said he had a ride. They had grown closer - a lot closer. Marco helped Jean with his English, and Jean helped Marco with his math, and they stacked books together and cleaned up after the dipshits who littered in the library and saluted Shadis with smirks. Sometimes Jean ate lunch with Marco’s friends and sometimes Marco ate lunch with Jean’s friends and sometimes they both ate together, away from everyone else. 

The first day of December, Jean was called into the office after school ended. He sat outside Erwin’s office, twiddling his thumbs nervously and tapping his foot. He honestly didn’t know what he had done wrong. His grades had improved, and he hadn’t gotten into any fights (at least not fist fights) and he was going to the library and everything. But obviously he had messed something up, like he always did, because Jean was a fuck-up and he couldn’t pull off being even a little good - 

“Come in, Jean,” Erwin called from inside his office. Jean took a deep breath and walked inside.

“What did I do this time?” he whined, flopping into the chair facing the principal’s desk. 

“Nothing.”

“Nothing. What do you mean, nothing? Then why the f- why the hell am I here?” Jean complained. This was a waste of his time; he could be in the library with Marco right now, not putting up with Erwin.

“Jean, calm down please. It’s just a check up.”

“A check up?”

Erwin sighed. “It’s been what, four weeks? I’m checking up on you, Jean. To discuss how you’ve been doing.” Erwin tapped his pen on the desk, staring at Jean with his intense blue eyes.

Hm. He didn’t know where Erwin was going with this. Was this a bad thing? Jean hadn’t done anything wrong in awhile, so it shouldn’t be a bad thing... “So go on - discuss,” Jean said.

“Your grades have improved in English,” Erwin said.

“Yup.”

“And in math, too.” 

“Oh really? Fantastic.” 

“And you haven’t gotten in any fights. As far as I know.” 

“Impressive, right?”

“Yes, actually. I’m proud of you, Jean.” Ewrin was proud of him? He sounded like Jean’s dad. Ew. "Though you still need to work on your attitude.”  

Jean smirked. That was one thing he knew even Marco could never change about him. 

“However,” Erwin cleared his throat. Here it comes, thought Jean, the bad news. “I’d like you to keep going to the library.”

Jean scoffed. Of course Erwin didn’t trust him yet. Jean would have been surprised if Erwin had let him off the hook so easily. But the thing was, Jean wasn’t all that disappointed about it. He kind of liked working with Marco at the library. (Not that he would tell Erwin that). He realized…he didn’t want to leave the library. Despite Shadis being creepy and the annoying shitty computers, it wasn’t that much work, and it was Jean’s only time with Marco. And he couldn’t risk that. 

“Fine,” Jean spat. Erwin raised his ridiculously thick eyebrows in surprise. Jean had willingly agreed to something without a fight, probably for the first time with Erwin. Jean fought back a smirk - it wasn’t often Erwin was surprised.

After Erwin regained his composure, he said “...Excellent. Keep at it until winter break is over, and then we can talk again. Well, that concludes out meeting - “

Jean jumped up, almost knocking over the chair behind him, already heading out the door as Erwin called out, “ - and stay out of trouble!” Jean rolled his eyes as he jogged away.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Are you okay?” Marco asked.

“What - yeah.” Jean answered back absentmindedly.

“There’s something bothering you.”

“Well that’s none of your fucking business.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Jean felt bad for snapping at Marco, not that he was about to admit that. Marco was right, though. Something was bothering him. And that something had freckles and a killer jawline.

Jean couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he was always helping people, even if it didn’t benefit him, the way he was too humble about everything, how he was afraid to ask for help, how he explained the themes in Huck Finn and even how he brushed his perfect hair out of the way. The way he laughed at Jean’s lame attempts at humor, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he had his nose buried in a book, and his goddam freckles. His smiles were the worst. They were contagious even at the best of times. 

Jean felt himself trying to get close to Marco. A little brush here, a little touch there. He blushed whenever it happened, of course, and he hoped to whatever god out there, if there was one at all, that Marco didn’t notice. 

Okay. So he was gay. Maybe bi. And he liked Marco. 

It wouldn’t have been a problem, really, if Jean had guts and he was sure Marco was gay. But there was no way freckled Jesus could be gay, right? He was too…perfect. Old-fashioned. Just plain…straight.

So Jean would just have to repress his feelings. Yeah, that was it. Just until winter break, when he could take time to wrap his head around…whatever this was. 


	11. The Curse of Doing Well for Once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh! I'm back! It has been almost a year since I posted and I feel really bad! At first I had lost ALL OF MY NOTES I had on this fic which sucks ass, and that's why I stopped writing for awhile, but then I just got into other projects and school was super busy :P 
> 
> The good news is I think my writing has improved since then. (You can be the judge of that.) Hopefully I'll be able to update a bit more regularly. I guess we'll just have to see.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated, they're seriously such a great motivator and I always love to hear what you guys have to say!
> 
> (reminder that I'm [satyrsyd37](http://satyrsyd37.tumblr.com/) on tumblr feel free to hmu and complain that I haven't updated in forever)

_Which line best demonstrates Twain's use of satire?_  
  
Jean tapped his pencil on the paper and read through the answer choices. It definitely wasn't A, and although Jean thought D was suppose to be sarcastic, he didn't think it was satire. It was between B and C.  
  
Jean tapped his pen against his lip. Both answers looked right...Jean glanced over his answer sheet. There seemed to be an absence of B's.  
  
B it is, then.  
  
The rest of the test wasn't too hard. It seemed like those study sessions with Marco at the library had paid off after all.  
  
Jean took one more look at his test, and gave a satisfied huff. He got up to turn it in right as the bell rang.  
  
"Woohoo! It's Winter Break, Motherfuckers!" some ass yelled.  
  
Jean rolled his eyes and packed up his things.  
  
"Hey," said a voice from behind him.  
  
"Hey Marco," Jean replied. Who else would it be? Besides, Jean recognized his voice by now.  
  
"Ready to go to the library now?"

“What kind of question is that? You know I want to get the fuck out of this classroom,” Jean smirked.

“Jean,” a voice called from the other side of the classroom. Rivaille.

“Shit,” Jean whispered under his breath. Marco glanced at Rivaille, and back at Jean. “I think I’ll wait outside for you.” He scurried out of the classroom before Jean could tell him otherwise. _That bastard._

_“Ahem.”_

Shit. Jean was still standing next to his desk, staring longingly at the door. _Better get this over with,_ he thought. 

He walked slowly over to Rivaille’s desk, so as not to provoke the beast. Rivaille was wearing his iconic dead-eyed face. Jean gulped.

“You’ve done good work in my class this month,” Rivaille said.

“Um…okay.” That – that was new. It put Jean on edge. Where the hell was he taking this?

“I’ve talked to my fellow teachers though,” _Oh god._ “Apparently this is the only class you try in.”

_Yeah, because you scare the shit out of me._

“I don’t know why you try in this class. Maybe it’s because you’re scared of me. Maybe it’s because you like this class, though I doubt that because I don’t think you particularly like me, and I don’t particularly like you either.”

Jean fiddled with the straps on his bag. _Way to be blunt._

“Frankly I don’t care why. I’d just like you to try in your other classes, too.” 

“Um, Professor Rivaille – “

“Just do it, Jean,” Rivaille sighed and ran his tiny hand through his hair. “I don’t want the other teachers on my case. Hanji especially. Be sure to try extra hard in Chemistry.”

Well that was…unexpected. Jean didn’t know how to feel about that. English was actually pretty time consuming…to try in his other classes as well? Maybe Marco would like him even more then…not that he was trying to impress Marco or anything.

“Okay,” Jean said. If anything, he would do it so Professor Rivaille would get off his case.

Rivaille flicked his hand towards the door. “Go. I know you have a library date with your boyfriend.”

Jean’s face turned cherry red. “Whoa, um, _no_ , actually he’s not – ”

“Just go. Have a decent break.” Rivaille spun his chair around in the dramatic way that only he could, leaving Jean no choice but to bolt out of the classroom.

 

 

“What was that about?” Marco asked as he and Jean made their way to the library.

“Nothing.”

Most people would let it slide. But Marco was Marco, so of course he responded, “Jean, if it was nothing, he wouldn’t have wanted to talk with you in the first place.”

Jean sighed. “I told you, nothing.”

_“Sure.”_

Jean gasped dramatically. “Marco, did you just _sass_ me?”

Marco opened his mouth in mock surprise. “ _Sass_ you? Jean, I would _never_!”

They were both giggling to themselves as they approached the doors to the library. Marco opened them and motioned for Jean to go inside.

Jean rolled his eyes and curtsied. “What a gentleman you are.”

Marco blushed. “Well, one of us has to be.”

Jean grunted and headed instead. Freckled Jesus. What else could he expect?

Unsurprisingly, the library was empty. “Well, look’s like this is going to be a waste of an hour,” Jean complained as he shrugged off his bag and tossed it under the checkout counter. 

“That’s great. Now you can tell me what Rivaille talked to you about,” Marco said. He sauntered over to Jean and gave him that shit-eating grin.

“So,” Marco began. “What’d he say?”

Jean groaned. It seemed liked there was no way out. “He wanted me to try harder in classes other than English.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Marco considered this for a moment, while Jean considered his jaw that he was stroking with a finger and a thumb, and finally said, “I think that’s a good thing.”

“What? How the hell is that a _good_ thing?”

“It means he thinks you’re capable of doing better. He believes in you, Jean. Isn’t that a good thing?”

 Jean thought back to Rivaille’s words. “Well if he really does believe in me, he has a weird-ass way of showing it.”

Marco laughed, and Jean couldn’t help but smile too.

“Hey, what’re you doing for winter break?” Marco asked eventually.

“Nothing much. I’m just hanging around here. You?”

“Same. My family…we don’t travel a lot.”

This was the first time Marco had mentioned his family, and Jean couldn’t help but be intrigued.

“Do you have any siblings?” he asked.

“What?” Marco looked startled. Jean just looked at him; he knew Marco had heard him. “Oh…yeah. I have a little brother. His name’s Max. He’s ten.” Marco had a fond look on his face as he talked about his brother. “He’s in elementary school right now – the one by the park. They just started music class, and he tried violin and he really loves it…” Marco got that far away look in his eye again.

“I remember when we had to try instruments in elementary school. I hated violin when I tried it, but I played trumpet in the band for two years.”

Marco’s face lit up again. “That’s so cool! Did you like it?”

“I guess so,” Jean said, smiling at the memories. “Not enough to continue it, though. Jaegar was probably one of the reasons too.”

“Eren was in band too? What’d he play?”

“Trumpet.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, that’s probably why it didn’t work out with me and band. We were always fighting over who would be first chair. I think that was our first fight – when Mrs. Hannigan told us who got first chair.”

“Who got it?”

“Umm….” Jean tried to jog his memory, but in all honesty, most of his memories from middle school were very vague. “I don’t remember.”

“Of course not,” Marco laughed. “I always wanted to play an instrument. I tried cello in fourth grade, but I was so bad at it, our conductor asked me to fake playing during the concert.”

Jean started laughing. “I guess you aren’t perfect freckled Jesus after all!”

Marco rolled his eyes. “I already told you, I’m bad at math. You can just add music to the list of things I suck at.” Marco’s gaze drifted to his feet.

Jean frowned. “I don’t think that list would be very long.”

“It’s a lot longer that you would believe.”

Jean walked up to Marco and patted him on the shoulder, causing Marco to jump.

“Sorry. But I think you’re pretty cool, man. Even if you have long list of shitty things about you.” Marco looked up and smiled at Jean, and Jean could feel his heart flutter. “Anyways I bet my list is a fuck-ton longer.”

Marco laughed. “Oh please, Jean, get over yourself.”

Before they knew it, the hour was up, and Jean drove Marco home. Before he got out, Marco turned to Jean as if he wanted to ask him something.

“Is there something wrong?” Jean asked.

Marco blushed and rubbed his hands together. “I, uh, I was wondering if we could exchange numbers? Maybe if you wanted to hang out or something? Not that’d you’d want to…”

Jean blushed. It shouldn’t have been weird, Marco was just asking for a friend’s number, after all, but he felt his insides squirm anyway. “Of course I’d want to!” Jean reassured him quickly.

Marco started blushing as well, and the car became awkwardly quiet.

“I guess…I’ll give you my number then…” Marco said softly.

“Oh! Yeah! Uh, here you go…” Jean pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Marco, exchanging it for Marco’s phone.

A few moments later Jean handed Marco’s phone back, saying, “So uh…I’ll text you?”

Marco grinned. “Yeah, that sounds great! I’ll…I’ll see you then.”

“…Later.”

Jean’s blush didn’t fade as he drove away and began his long-anticipated winter break.


	12. Texting Angst and Marco's Porch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think I'm going to post shorter chapters in closer increments? Or try to at least. I think that will keep me more motivated. We'll just wait and see I guess. 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments! It means a lot! :D

Jean almost wasted a whole week staring at his phone, trying to text Marco.

It was weird not seeing him everyday, not hearing his uplifting voice or seeing his ever-smiling face. He kind of missed those freckles.

Hell, he _really_ missed those freckles.

Jean groaned, holding his phone in his hands.

_Just text him. It’s not a big deal._

But it _was_ a big deal. He and Marco had only ever communicated face to face, in a controlled environment. School or the library or even at lunch – those were all routine. Even driving home had an element of sameness to it. But texting added a slew of variables to the mix, ones Jean wasn’t sure how to deal with.

Should he use caps at the beginning of sentences? Should he be concerned about spelling? Should he use emojis? Would Marco think that was weird, or would it help the message come across better? What if Marco interpreted whatever he said completely differently than how he meant it? What if Marco didn’t text back? What if he did and Jean couldn’t carry out a conversation and Marco thought he was lame?

_You should probably figure out what to text him first._

Jean sighed dramatically, clutching his phone between his fingers. _What do I even say?_

Jean jumped out of his seat, almost dropping his phone.

“Jesus Christ – “ Jean opened up the text, hissing under his breath when he realized it was just Connie.

**From Bald Monkey:**

_hey r u free 2morrow? sasha and i are going 2 the mall. wanna come?_

Jean was, in fact, very free. All he’d done the past week was play video games and watch Netflix and angst over Marco.

Speaking of Marco…Jean had a brilliant idea.

**To Bald Monkey:**

_Cool can I bring a friend?_

**From Bald Monkey:**

_u have other friends?_

**To Bald Monkey:**

_Ur one to talk_

**From Bald Monkey:**

_ur just saying that b/c u dont kno bout my secret swag squad. u just nvr see them b/c their coolness blinds nerds like u_

**From Bald Monkey:**

_who’s the friend?_

**To Bald Monkey:**

_Marco bodt_

**From Bald Monkey:**

_oh of course! how could i 4get bout him? u guys are tighter than rivaille’s asshole these days._

_**To Bald Monkey:** _

_Fuck you for putting that mental image in my mind_

**From Bald Monkey:**

_Haha thats ur fault. we r meeting there @ 2_

_**To Bald Monkey:** _

_See you then asshole_

Time for step two, Jean thought, opening a new message for Marco.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a while until he typed and sent a respectable message.

**To Freckled Jesus:**

_Connie and Sasha and I are hanging out tomorrow at the mall you should come with us_

Jean felt his stomach clench as soon as he hit send. Was that too direct? Too casual? What if he didn’t want to hand out with other people? Jean could only hope Marco didn’t take it the wrong way…

_Bzz._

Frantically Jean opened his messages.

**From Freckled Jesus:**

_That sounds fun! Hmm depends what time tho_

Jean tossed his head back and sighed with relief. Marco was the nicest guy Jean knew – he probably would have responded nicely to the meanest text Jean could send. But he still felt relieved.

**To Freckled Jesus:**

_2 and I can drive u_

**To Freckled Jesus:**

_If u want_

**To Freckled Jesus:**

_If u need one_

**To Freckled Jesus:**

_A ride, I mean_

**To Freckled Jesus:**

_Fuck you get it_

Jean smacked his face. Why was he being so weird and awkward? Generally he wasn’t an awkward person but now he couldn’t even send a proper text.

**From Freckled Jesus:**

_Haha yeah a ride would be great! Thnx :D_

**To Freckled Jesus:**

_K I’ll pick u up at 1:30?_

**From Freckled Jesus:**

_Sounds good see u then! I can’t wait!_

Jean put down his phone and let out a huge breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, relieved that the ordeal had gone over fairly well. Better that well, actually – he’d be seeing Marco tomorrow. That definitely counted as better than ‘well’.

Now he just had to wait a day. An agonizingly slow and painful day, during which he would have the time to angst over every possible thing that could go the next day and work himself up into a nervous wreck: the perfect way to spend his winter break.

 

 

Jean sat with his car parked outside Marco’s house. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, working up the courage to get out and knock on the door.

In all the times he’d dropped Marco off at his house, he’d never set foot on the porch. It had always been in the distance, past a theoretical line between ‘classmates’ and ‘friends’. But Marco and he were friends, right? So crossing the line shouldn’t be an issue.

Jean hopped out of his car and forced himself up to the door. He brought his fist up to knock but hesitated for a moment.

Suddenly the door opened. A woman who looked a bit like Marco – she had his freckles and hair, though hers was considerably longer – met Jean with a smile. It wasn’t quite as kind as Marco’s, though.

“You must be Marco’s friend,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah…I’m Jean.”

“I’m Marco’s aunt. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Marco’s aunt was eyeing Jean when suddenly there was a thumping from inside the house. Marco came bursting through the door, calling “I’ll be back later bye,” as he charged past her.

“Whoa!” Jean’s arm was yanked behind him and he was dragged to his car. Before he could turn around and say anything to Marco’s aunt the door slammed with a resounding _thunk_.

“Hey Marco – ” Marco opened the car door and jumped inside. “ – okay then.”

Once Jean followed in suit and hopped in the driver’s seat, he turned to Marco and asked, “What the fuck was that about?”

“Hmm?” Marco buckled his seatbelt.

Jean just stared at him.

“Oh, I just couldn’t wait to hang out with you guys,” he said, putting on an obviously fake grin. “I’m just excited!”

“Fine,” Jean said. “If you won’t tell me, I won’t make you tell me. But don’t be fake about it.”

“…sorry.” Marco lowered his eyes and his smile dimmed, causing Jean to feel guilty.

“You don’t have to – never mind, don’t worry about it. Just…just try to relax and have fun. But don’t be fake about it either.”

Marco hummed in agreement.

As they drove to the mall, they made small talk about how their breaks had been, but Jean couldn’t help but notice the awkwardness that had settled between them. He really hoped it would just go away, and that he and Marco could actually enjoy their time off together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the text formatting ok? is it hard to read? I tried something different than usual but I don't know if it's better...
> 
> (If there are any errors pls let me know i edited this very quickly.)


	13. Mall Shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little longer...hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> And wow 2000 hits? Thank you guys so much!

“Jean! Jean! Over here Jean!”

“Jeeeaaaannnn! How lovely to see your ugly horse face! Oh hi Marco!”

It wasn’t hard for him to find his friends. It never really was, probably because they were always the ones yelling obnoxiously.

Connie and Sasha stood by the fountain in the middle of the mall, waving their arms and generally attracting a lot of judgmental looks.

“Sorry for them,” Jean muttered irritably to Marco.

Marco just waved his hands. “Don’t be. I knew what I was signing up for when you said Connie and Sasha.”

Jean smirked.

“Hey!” Sasha ran up to them and threw her arms around them both, almost knocking them over with her forceful hug.

“Oh, wow, hi!” Marco said, struggling to talk through a mouthful of her hair. “Nice to see you too, I guess?”

Jean pushed Sasha off of them and glared at Connie, waiting for him to try something weird.

Connie raised his eyebrow. “What, you think I’m going to hug your nasty ass?”

Jean rolled his eyes and Marco laughed.

“So,” Marco said, clapping his hands together, “what did you guys want to do?”

“Well I’m hungry,” Sasha announced. “We should get food.”

“You’re always hungry,” Connie sighed. He suddenly brightened. “ _But_ the Cheesecake Factory is just around the corner…”

Jean turned to ask Marco, “You like cheesecake?”

Marco nodded and said, “Let’s go!”

The restaurant was crowded and the group was seated at a table squished in the middle of the floor. Jean always hated when he sat so close to other people, but the rest of the group seemed happy enough.

“What kind of cheesecake are you guys getting?” Connie asked.

Sasha stared intently at the menu. “I’m stuck between the White Chocolate Caramel Macadamia Nut and the Reeses Peanut Butter Chocolate Cake and the Chocolate Chip Cookie-dough but wait! I really love the Ultimate Red Velvet Cake – “

“Okay, okay, we get it!” Jean interrupted. “I’m having the original. The only _real_ cheesecake here.”

“What do you mean?” Marco asked.

Connie answered for him. “Jean’s a cheesecake snob. I mean, he’s a snob in general, but especially with cheesecake. He refuses to eat anything besides the original because he’s _boring_ and a _chicken_.”

“Nothing else here is cheesecake. It’s wannabe cheesecake – putting all that chocolate and fruit and fucking _peanut butter_ in there doesn’t make it cheesecake anymore! It doesn’t even make it taste good!”

“Have you ever tried another kind of cheesecake?” Marco asked innocently.

Jean’s eyebrow twitched. “Well, no…”

Marco looked at him all innocently, causing Jean to frown at him. _Curse you, Bodt._

“What are you going to have, Marco?” Connie asked.

“I don’t know. I’m not too hungry to be honest, I don’t think I could eat a whole slice.”

Sasha snorted, her nose still buried in the menu. “You sound like Jean.”

 _Here we go,_ Jean thought.

“He won’t admit he has a weak stomach, but he does. He’ll order a whole slice of plain cheesecake – _plain_ , with absolutely _nothing_ on it to actually make it rich or filling at all – and eat, like, six bites of it.”

“Cheesecake’s filing for those of us with _normal_ stomachs,” Jean countered.

Sasha leaned over to Connie and whispered in her ear, just loud enough for Jean and Marco to hear, “Sounds like something a guy with a weak-ass stomach would say.”

Marco laughed aloud while Jean flipped her the bird. He was glad Marco was having fun, but he wished it wasn’t at his expense.

“I have an idea,” Connie said, grinning mischievously and flicking his eyes between Jean and Marco. “How about you two share a piece?”

“Share…” Jean slowly processed what Connie meant. Share a piece…oh. _Oh_.

What would Marco think? Was that…too weird for him? Normally only couples and family members shared food, right? Even though it seemed like the logical thing to do, Jean wasn’t sure if Marco would feel comfortable…hell, would Jean himself feel comfortable? After all, he didn’t want to send the wrong message. But was it really the wrong message?

He still didn’t understand his feelings for Marco. Scratch that, he understood them – he just didn’t want to. He didn’t want to crush on his new best friend, because he was happy that they were friends, just friends. He didn’t want to take the chance that Marco liked him back either. Why would someone like Marco want to be any more than friends with a fuck-up like him?

That didn’t stop his feelings, though. He couldn’t help wanting to get close to Marco; he wanted something more that what they had now.

He glanced at Connie, with his satisfied little grin. It caused Jean to think that maybe Connie knew, maybe more so than Jean himself. The subtle wink he sent Jean confirmed his suspicions.

Jean’s face turned beat red. He looked at Marco to gauge his reaction. At first, he looked a little taken aback, but as he warmed up to the suggestion, a small smile spread across his face.

“I’m okay with it if you are, Jean,” he said.

Jean gulped. _Oh crap, he said yes. Wait, that’s a good thing! But I don’t want to look too happy about it, or else I’ll freak him out._

“Yes! I mean, yeah. Yeah, it’s cool. I mean, I’m okay with it,” Jean felt his face heat up as he stumbled over his words. “Because, you know, it’s logical. Since neither of us would, you know, finish it. The cheesecake. Money too…! I mean, it’ll be cheaper that way. Money, you know. It’s one slice, not two. Which is…cheaper.”

They were all looking at him funny. Marco grinned at him encouragingly, Connie’s smile was strained and pained looking, and Sasha looked like she was about to burst out laughing, so he shot her a glare.

Suddenly the waitress appeared at their table. She was tall and gangly and had freckles like Marco. She asked them in a tired voice, “Are you guys ready to order?”

“Oh hey Ymir,” Marco said, waving a hand.

“Marco! My favorite junior!” Ymir exclaimed, her pout turning into a sardonic grin. “What’re you doing here?”

“Um, hanging out…with these guys,” he said.

“Well, it’s nice to know that you have friends outside of that damn club,” she said. “I’d love to stay and chat but we’re busy today and I don’t want Christa to overwork herself. What can I get you, friends of Marco?”

Connie ended up ordering the Hershey’s Chocolate Bar Cheesecake and Sasha the Dulce De Leche Caramel Cheesecake.

“Are you okay with having the original?” Jean asked Marco. Just to check if he was serious about the sharing-a-slice thing. Or if he changed his mind in the last two minutes, which was probable.

“Jean, are you implying that you’d order something else for my sake?” Marco asked sarcastically, holding his hand over his heart.

“Cut it with your sass,” Jean said, and turned to Ymir. “And one slice of the original.”

Ymir looked at Marco to confirm, and they did some weird nodding thing, and then she walked away.

Several minutes later another waitress arrived with their order.

“Hey Marco,” she said when she arrived. Marco greeter her and smiled. She was small and blonde and a lot cuter than Jean, which he did not approve of.

“Hey Christa!”

“Ymir said you were here. I hope your break has been good so far.”

“It has, thank you. I hope yours has been interesting too.”

“With Ymir, it’s definitely not boring,” Christa said, rolling her eyes.

Marco laughed and Christa left them to their cheesecake.

_Why does Marco know all these girls. Why are they smiling at him. Were they flirting with him just now. Who are they._

“What was that about?” Jean asked before he realized the words were out of his mouth.

“Her and Ymir are dating. They made an odd couple, but I know they’re happy together.” Jean was relieved that they were both taken (…by each other, which was weird in itself because they seemed like complete opposites). Still, Jean couldn’t help but feel jealous, even though he knew Marco smiled at just about everyone.

“Are you ready?” Sasha asked Connie. They were both leaned over their plates with a fork gripped in one hand and knife in the other, not a napkin in sight.

“Um, what are they doing?” Marco leaned over to ask Jean.

“Are you guys seriously doing this?” Jean sighed. He explained to Marco, “They’re going to have a contest to see who can finish their piece first. They do this _every fucking time_ because they’re _two year olds_.”

“I see,” Marco said. Was it just him, or was Marco’s face a little red? Come to think of it, they were sitting pretty close…and they were about to share a meal…

“Jean, count us down!” Sasha interrupted, posed over her meal like a predator over a piece of meat.

“No fucking way – “

“Marco, count us down!”

Jean scoffed. _Those little bastards._ Marco smirked at him.

“Are you guys ready?” Marco said.

Connie and Sasha were already hovering over their dishes. “Three, two one – go!”

They wordlessly tore into the cheesecake, frantically stuffing their mouths in the disgusting fashion Jean had witnessed way too many times. Sasha inhaled her food like a vacuum while the majority of Connie’s food ended up on his face.

Jean covered his face. “How can you watch this?” he asked Marco in disbelief.

“You should see my little brother. This is nothing compared to him,” Marco said.

He picked up a fork and handed another one to Jean. “So, uh, you want to start?”

“Yes! I mean yeah, um…yes.” _Okay Jean. Get ahold of yourself._

Jean took a knife and cut a precise line down the middle of the slice of cheesecake. Then he pushed one slice towards the very edge of the plate near Marco and pulled the other on the edge of the plate near himself.

Marco looked at him kind of funny.

“Is…is that okay?” Jean asked. “I just thought…it was the best way…in terms of getting, you know, equal amounts and stuff…”

“It’s fine,” Marco smiled. Jean exhaled quietly in relief.

“Geez Jean, you’re such a prude,” Sasha told him through a mouthful of food, so it sounded more like “Geef on ‘er uch uh pood.”

Jean narrowed his eyes and dug into his slice of cake. “If you’re taking a moment to speak you must be pretty confident in your victory.”

Sasha smiled as she stuffed another mouthful down her throat. She was almost halfway done and all the whip cream on her plate had vanished. Connie was a bit further behind, and was about halfway through his whipped cream.

Jean and Marco ate in relative silence, watching as Sasha and Connie vacuumed their plates.

“It’s intriguing…in a sickening way,” Marco commented as Sasha licked her plate. Jean nodded in agreement.

Sasha suddenly held up her plate, as clean as if it had come right out of the dishwasher. “Forty sixth time in a row!” she exclaimed, punching Connie on the shoulder.

Connie gulped his mouthful and sighed loudly. He pushed his plate – only a square inch of cheesecake and a dollop of whip cream was left – in front of him and thunked his head loudly on the table.

“It’s the closest you’ve come in a while,” Jean commented.

“Have you ever won?” Marco asked Connie.

“Once.” Connie looked up with an expression of fond nostalgia. “And boy, was it a stellar win. We were in seventh grade – we both had Godiva ChocolateCheesecake. That time I was ready, my stomach empty and my hands were as quick as lightning shoving food into my mouth – “

“You only won because I had the flu!” Sasha cut in.

“Whatever.”

“I threw up on you afterwards.”

“Don’t remind me.”

 

 

They left the restaurant soon afterwards and wandered around the mall, window-shopping and goofing off. Jean kept sneaking glances at Marco; he was always smiling and it always made Jean smile too, no matter how much he tried to repress it.

At one point, Connie and Jean were waiting for Marco and Sasha outside the bathrooms. Connie crossed his arms and smirked at Jean. “So – have you made any progress with Marco?”

“Huh?” Jean pretended to brush off the comment but he already felt his face heating up. _Shit,_ _how did he know?_ “What do you mean?”

Connie grinned. “You know exactly what I mean. You have a crush on Marco, don’t you?”

Jean looked the other way and didn’t answer.

“C’mon, I saw you sneaking looks at him.”

Jean blushed even deeper.

“Hey. I’ll tell you a secret. He was sneaking looks at you too.”

Before Jean could react to Connie’s observation, Sasha and Marco came out of the bathroom. Jean tried to forget about it, but the rest of the day, Connie’s words rang in his ears. _He was sneaking looks at you too._

 

 

“C’mon, selfie time!”

They all stood by the fountain where they’d first met up, but this time they were preparing to leave. Connie had whipped out his phone and as part of these ‘preparations’.

Sasha rolled her eyes. “You and your freaking selfies…”

“Hey.” Connie looked intensely at her, with complete seriousness. “When the apocalypse comes and the world is overrun with man eating monsters, we’re gonna be the ones saving the world, and after all that is over, we’ll be heroes! My amazing selfie game is just in preparation for the time when they’ll write biographies about us – they’ll conveniently have my entire life displayed in selfies!”

“Man eating monsters?” Jean questioned as Connie yanked him over.

“Of course,” Connie assured. “Get in on this Marco! You’re part of our monster slaying squad!”

Marco blushed – actually blushed (who would blush about that?) – and said, “I, um, I don’t think I’d be that useful…”

“Nonsense!” Connie reached over Jean and pulled Marco into the picture. “You’d make the best soldier! Brave and charming and always saving Jean’s ass!”

“Hey!”

Marco laughed. “Actually, I think he’d be the one saving _my_ ass…”

“Smile!”

Marco was pressed into Jean’s side by Connie’s demanding shove. He could feel that Marco was as tense was he was. Jean tried to ignore just how close Marco’s face was as he posed for the picture.

The camera clicked and Jean was ready to back out, but Connie snatched sleeve and kept him there for several more pictures, to Jean’s dismay.

“Wanna see?” Connie asked, handing Jean his phone. Even though Jean hated the way he looked in pictures – it seemed like cameras only accented his horse-like features – he liked how some of them turned out. Especially the one in which he and Marco were glancing at each other with little smiles on their faces.

“Hey…um…could you send this one to me?” Jean asked Connie discreetly after making sure Marco was otherwise preoccupied.

Connie winked. “Sure man. That’s why I took pictures in the first place.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“…you know what.”

 

 

Later that evening, after Jean had dropped Marco back off at his house, Jean looked through his texts and saw Connie had sent him several pictures. Including the one Jean had asked for.

He’d cropped the picture so it was only Jean and Marco. Jean thought he might have added some filters or something, because it looked different from before, even nicer. Whatever he’d done made Marco look good. His hair looked soft and fluffy and his freckles stood out and his jawline was so nicely defined and his big brown eyes, glancing shyly at Jean, gleamed.

_I’m so fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I really didn't like how this chapter turned out...I probably should have edited it more (let me know if there's any typos or something I have a terrible eye for that stuff) but I wanted to post it now...oh well hope you guys liked it anyways.
> 
> Also I really want cheesecake now.


End file.
